Fade to Grey
by marianne le fey
Summary: Unable to catch hold of anything in order to save herself, her mind clung to the one fact it knew to be unassailably true: something was terribly, terribly wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**Fade to Grey**

by marianne le fey

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><p><strong>AN** - Just a few notes about canon before we begin. This story follows the books up until the epilogue of _Deathly Hallows_ - in fact it could even be read assuming that the epilogue will still take place, but I rather hope not. However, this story should be considered AU after the _Half Blood Prince_ as, for the plot to work, we are following Severus' timeline as it was established in this book, before "The Prince's Tale" in book 7 went and fiddled with it. Basically, the Shrieking Shack/werewolf incident occurs in Severus' sixth year, not his fifth.

There will be other bits that may feel like deviations from canon, but, rest assured, there is an explanation for them!

Huge thanks go to **heartmom88** and **ofankoma** for their help throughout.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

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><p>It was a rushing, whirling sensation unlike anything she had ever felt before.<p>

Caught in a riptide, she was being dragged inexplicably away, her feet sucked from underneath her, no longer certain which way was up and which way was down.

Her breath burned in her chest, and bright spots exploded in the oppressive darkness. Time had lost meaning. Panic threatened to drown her.

Unable to catch hold of anything in order to save herself, her mind clung to the one fact it knew to be unassailably true: something was terribly, terribly wrong.

-x-

Suddenly, she was free.

Released so quickly that she staggered, falling to her knees. A new darkness began to descend, this one shifting and weightless. She collapsed fully, only dimly aware of pain as she grazed her face against the warm tarmac. The smell reminded her of long, hot summers when she used to walk home from school, grass stains on her skirt, and her knees or hands grazed from falls in the playground. She thought she might be smiling.

The world shimmered and began to recede. She struggled to keep her eyes open, struggled to raise herself from the ground, but her body listlessly refused to obey.

She was sinking fast.

Dimly, she became aware of a voice, questions aimed at her. She struggled against the darkness, wanting to respond. She was good at questions, good with answers. She forced herself to focus, to reply.

Her eyes briefly lit upon a familiar face, and she immediately felt her panic recede. He looked stern, but then, he always looked stern. He might be angry with her, but she was safe now. He would look after her.

Somewhere a tiny voice reminded her that he had _always_ looked after her, even against his better judgement.

Finally, her reticent mind supplied a name.

"Snape," she murmured, glad to have solved at least a small part of the puzzle.

The questions suddenly ceased, only to be replaced by harder ones, one she could barely understand. There was a second voice now, one she didn't know.

Realising she had allowed her eyes to drift shut once more, she summoned her dwindling strength to focus on those addressing her.

Instantly, she was aware that something was wrong. The man was tall, but he was also broad. He had a large, hooked nose, but his hair was cut short. His features were too blunt, and, now that she listened carefully, she realised his accent was blunted too, his voice lacking its normal richness.

She recoiled, seemingly into herself.

She sank backwards into darkness, and this time, no voice called her home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

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><p>They were arguing. She wasn't certain if they were far away, or if her senses were still mired in the strange fog that had threatened to drown her. The voices were drifting towards her, and she found she could understand them easily. Indeed, they made no effort to disguise what they were saying.<p>

"You're the one that insisted we bring her inside, woman!"

"We couldn't just leave her lying there in the street, outside our door!" came the shrill reply. "I just want to know how she knew your name!"

The response was angry. "Be very careful what you say next." It dared defiance, as if spoiling for a fight. "Be very careful what you accuse me of. I've never hidden anything from you. I'm not the one that lies, witch!"

When the other voice responded, it was more measured. The woman seemed to be speaking with forced calm. "I wonder who she could be. I don't recognise her."

"She's not from 'round here. Fancy London clothes, expensive shoes. Best not be one of your lot."

She lay somewhere between sleeping and waking, not quite ready to face the world. Currently, she was warm and comfortable, but she had a suspicion the sensation would not last long.

"Filthy Muggle."

That insult was delivered in a softer, more cultured voice than those raging further away, and seemed to be addressed to her. She gave up any attempt to remain asleep, and stirred where she lay.

She was lying on a bed, or something equally soft, and was covered with a blanket. She was still dressed in her jeans and jumper, but her shoes were gone. She opened her eyes slowly, aware as she did so of the dull pain across her cheek and forehead. Shifting slightly, she felt a similar pain in her right shoulder and hip.

She was in a narrow bed, pushed against a wall. There was a window behind and a doorway to her right. Lounging arrogantly against the frame was a young man with unkempt dark hair and suspicious eyes. On seeing her awake, his glare deepened.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "How do you know Tobias Snape?"

She blinked, suddenly aware that her mouth felt dry and gritty. She desperately wanted something to drink. The boy didn't seem to need an answer.

"Don't you dare think you can embarrass my mother, in my house!" he hissed. "Don't think we don't know exactly what you are and just why you're here. Fainting in the street!" He spat the words out, as if their darker meaning should be somehow clear to her. Determined to defend herself against this unprovoked attack, she took a deep breath, only to be overcome by a coughing fit.

The boy sullenly pushed himself from the doorframe to pass her a glass of water from the bedside table. She took it gratefully, but somehow misjudged the distance to her mouth, and ended up slopping most of it down her front. The boy reached out to steady the glass and help her sip, careful not to touch her fingers with his.

"What's your name?" He asked a little less aggressively, as if finally convinced of her weakened state.

She swallowed the cold water gratefully and nodded her thanks. Suddenly panic returned.

She met his stern gaze, her eyes embarrassingly full.

"I don't know," she whispered.

The suspicion returned to his eyes, and he watched her in silence as she leant back against the pillow. She stared back, not knowing what else to do, taking careful stock of his features. He had a bony sort of face, all nose, cheekbones and forehead, although it was obscured for the most part by the mess of black hair that fell in heavy curtains on either side. His lips were thin, but expressive, while his dark eyes were fathomless.

The voices downstairs reached a crescendo before halting abruptly with the slamming of a door. The boy glared at her as if daring her to comment. Tears pricked at her eyes once more as she realised she was the cause for the argument, for the boy's anger, and the slamming doors.

What had she done?

-x-

He hated returning home. Perhaps if he returned for Christmas and Easter like other students, the summer holiday wouldn't be quite so difficult to endure. Perhaps he would be less of a stranger to his own parents. Instead each time he returned he was shocked by the shabby, ordinariness of his childhood home. His mother would have grown smaller and older in his ten month absence, her hands and face red from work, her shoulders thin and stooped in defeat. Her face had lost any softness long ago, and now her thin mouth was always pinched with suspicion and envy.

He had endured his childhood, counting down the days that he might escape to school, having been fed stories full of magic and wonder about the place in lieu of fairy tales at bedtime.

Hogwarts.

The school was simultaneously even more wonderful than his mother had described and bitterly disappointing. It was filled with magic, obviously, and knowledge was freely available, especially to those who actively sought it. He was at last free from his father's influence, from the misery of this dying town filled with insipid Muggles, from a place where could never fit it.

However, Hogwarts came with its own trials to be borne. His aptitude for magic and willingness to learn took second place to his unkempt appearance and second hand robes. Even Slytherin, the house he had known he would belong to, put less stock in his mother's blood purity than the terrible solecism she had committed when she married not even a Muggle-born, but a Muggle.

The summer holidays had always been somewhat of a mixed blessing. They took him away from his tormentors, both within his school house and elsewhere, but they also stranded him in the decaying hovel that was his family home, firmly under his father's shadow. His father might have little hold on him anymore, but it was still unpleasant to be forced to share a roof with the man and to witness daily the sham of his parents' marriage.

The best part of the holiday had always been the glorious hours he had to spend with Lily, his best friend since childhood. The obligatory two weeks that her family spent in North Wales were always a torment to him. These days she may as well have moved there permanently for all the time they spent together. She had not forgiven him yet and was not likely to. It didn't matter that he said he was sorry, how often he pleaded with her. She had made up her mind. She had dropped him so quickly, it was almost as if she had been looking for an excuse to let their unlikely friendship go.

No, that was unfair. Lily Evans was not that shallow. He had done an unforgivable thing in her eyes, attacked her using the one word he knew would cause her the most harm. It didn't matter that he had been half out of his mind with rage and shame. He had hurt her.

The weeks of the summer holiday stretched before him, as dry and arid as the dusty street he lived on, leaving him as forlorn as the dying flowers in the window boxes next door. He fled the house at every available opportunity, walking for miles until he left his wretched town behind, or else shut himself away in his room, reading and rereading the few books he had been allowed to remove from the library for the summer, working on possible spells, spells that he wouldn't be able to try until next term, pure magical theory at its most taxing. Creating spell-work and charms was a bit like sentence structure, you not only needed to know the laws governing every part of a sentence before creating one, but also had to have the natural flair, the ability to construct. Potions were even more complex; although modifying existing potions came easily to him, he'd not yet managed to create anything impressive from scratch. He was toying with a certain formula in his head, but as yet, his efforts had yet to yield anything other than brown sludge.

He stood in the doorway and gazed down at the girl as she closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly to face the wall. So his last bolthole had been taken from him too, given up without permission to this unknown girl with expensive clothes and knowledge of his father. How wonderful.

"Why my room?" he had asked his mother as she had cleaned the girl's face while she slept.

"We couldn't put her on the sofa It just isn't long enough. Besides, your father is going to call into the surgery and ask someone to pop in a visit her, see if she needs to go to hospital."

"Why did we bring her in, in the first place?" he had demanded, already knowing the answer. His mother couldn't bear any hint of a scandal to be attached to their names, living as they did in such close proximity to their neighbours.

"Tidy up in here," came his mother's tired response. "At least hide your schoolbooks before the doctor gets here. She'll be gone soon enough. They'll most likely want to keep her in hospital overnight."

The girl had woken shortly afterwards while his parents were arguing downstairs. She had been confused and shaken, barely able to lift the glass of water he gave her, her large eyes filled with frightened tears. He was still considering her disturbing reaction to his questions as his mother returned, slightly red-eyed, carrying her best nightgown.

"Has she woken up yet?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. Slightly redundant, considering that her shouts had filled the house only moments before.

He nodded. "She doesn't remember who she is. Did she hit her head on the way down?" he asked, keeping his voice dangerously level. "Or did finally meeting you chase away whatever courage prompted her to initiate this meeting?"

His mother kept her eyes on the resting girl. "I won't be spoken to like that, Severus," she chastised, although her tone sounded resigned. "Have a look in her jacket, see if there's anything in there to say who she is." The girl on the bed stirred again and opened her eyes once more. "Don't worry; the doctor is on his way. We'll have you home in no time at all."

The girl relaxed against the pillows and smiled weakly. "Thank you," she breathed. "I'm sorry to put you to so much trouble." A London accent too.

"Not at all," came his mother's clipped reply. An awkward silence descended, thankfully interrupted by a knock at the door. "That'll be Dr Harrison now. Severus, can you bring him up, please? Severus?"

Severus acknowledged her with the barest jerk of his head, his attention caught by the contents of the girl's jacket pockets now grasped in his hand. He held out his hand to his mother, oddly grateful when he heard her ragged intake of breath. There, amid the sweet wrappers, odd coins, and bus tickets, was a wand.

Three pairs of eyes rested on the narrow strip of vinewood.

"Why are you here?" his mother asked quietly.

"I don't know," came the whispered reply. "I just remember falling." Severus silently handed her the wand. A tiny burst of sparks flew from the tip and the girl sighed. "I didn't realise how lost I felt without it."

They sat in silence, three pairs of eyes fixed upon the wand as it trembled slightly in the girl's hand, until a second knock sounded through the house. They all started as if slightly guilty.

"Severus, go and bring the doctor up. Stall for a little time if you can." She turned to the girl on the bed. "We can't send you off to a Muggle hospital. If need be, we'll get you to St Mungo's once the man has left, but first we need to convince him that you're fine. Here's what I want you to do."

-x-

He watched while the girl chatted happily to the doctor. She was far more at ease with the Muggle healer than he or his mother had ever been, and he guessed that she must have had dealings with the Muggle world before. Muggle-born, perhaps? Or half-blood, living in closer contact with the community that he did? She played her part perfectly, the silly southern chit who got lost looking for the home of a school friend.

"We've already managed to contact her parents. They're on their way to collect her now."

"Well Miss Jones, other than a couple of bruises you seem to be fine. If you get dizzy or feel sick at any point, you must let your parents know. And no more skipping breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day."

She hung her head, suitably chastised. "Yes, Dr Harrison."

He patted her affectionately on the knee as he stood to leave. "Make sure her parents know what happened to her. Give them my number if they don't have access to a doctor near here."

-x-

Severus lay awake, his long form crammed uncomfortably onto the narrow brown sofa. It amused him no end that the colour scheme of his parent's mostly inherited furniture was actually coming into fashion again. He wondered how long it would take before rattling sash windows and outside lavatories became kitsch.

The girl, Emma, as they had so quickly named her, was still occupying his room upstairs. He had left her clutching her wand as if it would prove to be a lifeline to the world she had mostly forgotten. At his mother's prompting, he had grudgingly leant her his copy of _Hogwarts: A History_, in the hope that it would jog some of her memories. She had accepted it gratefully, and was already lost amid its dog-eared pages before he had left the room, glad to be free of the sight of her small form swathed in his mother's blue cotton nightgown, her tangle of dark curls spilling across the pillow.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key in the door and a rush of cool night air that preceded his father into the little front room.

"Still here, then?" he asked by way of greeting.

The temptation to convey his profound love of attempting to sleep on uncomfortable, outdated Muggle furniture was tempered only by his desire to end the conversation as swiftly as possible. "Still here," he conceded. A smirk spread itself slowly over his father's face. _Oh, here we go,_ he sighed at the certain sign his father was about to share some witticism.

"Didn't think I'd see the day you got a girl into your bed, son." He grinned. "Mind you, she did have to be rendered unconscious first."

Glad that the darkness of the room hid the angry red that stained his cheeks, Severus ground his teeth together and refused to reply. No matter how smart his answer, his father would stay and torment him until he had won and Severus was only inches from hexing him. Better to suffer the indignity of defeat and lose himself in plans of what revenge he might wreak once he came of age.

His father continued to chuckle to himself as he made his way up stairs to bed. Severus felt a moments fear for Emma should his father take it upon himself to peer inside her room. She had not relinquished her hold on her wand since the doctor had left.

-x-

_Hogwarts: A History_ was both reassuringly familiar and irritatingly obscure all at the same time. The facts contained within were known to her, Emma decided; whole sentences appeared in her mind before she had finished reading them, as if she had memorised whole paragraphs, but not realised it until she saw the page afresh. It wasn't just the book; other things were doing it to her, too. It was like experiencing constant déjà vu, the simplest of things sending jolts of recognition through her. But despite continually being assaulted by the vaguely familiar, her brain seemed incapable of completing each memory. It was like a constant itch behind her eyes or just under her skin.

Eventually, she closed the book and settled back against the pillows.

She was too tired, and while she might not admit it out loud, too frightened and disorientated to make much sense of her current situation.

Whatever that might be.

For all she knew she might have been in the area looking for some school friend or other when she fainted and hit her head. The fact that she was a witch didn't detract from the fact she was lost and – save for a rather reluctant set of rescuers – alone.

She tried collecting her thoughts in her head before eventually giving up and slowly getting up from the bed. She felt a little unsteady, but crossed the room without incident to the little desk by the window. Feeling slightly guilty, she rummaged through the papers on top until she unearthed an unused bit of parchment and a chewed pencil. Getting this all down on paper would sooth her and hopefully reveal some sort of pattern or order to what had happened.

She scribbled "Things I Know" at the top of the page before gnawing the end of the pencil.

"I am a witch."

Well, that about summed it up. She sighed, then grimaced, rubbing her mouth when she remembered the already chewed state of the pencil.

"I have a wand." And that was it, really. She didn't know her own name or why she was in the current neighbourhood (which, not to be a complete snob, felt like no where she would normally visit. It was so . . . _Northern_. _Basic_. There wasn't even a radiator in the room she was in and the street outside was half-cobbled. Not in a picturesque way either; it was more like that had run out of tarmac half way through the job and not bothered to return). She didn't even know what the date was.

The only people she currently knew were Eileen Snape and her son, Severus, who had taken her in instant dislike, even if he had been the one to realise she was a witch. Eileen, Severus, Tobias Snape, and, briefly, Doctor Harrison.

She had understood completely why Doctor Harrison shouldn't find out about her magic, why you never told Muggles. She hadn't seen Tobias Snape yet, but apparently she had recognised him when she had been found, collapsed at the roadside. He hadn't recognised her though. Or so he said. Still, the man was a Muggle – he couldn't have done anything to her memory, could he? There was a tiny chance – and this suspicion felt so unworthy of her that she didn't wish to think it, let alone commit it to paper – that both she and Mr Snape had had their memories modified.

Been made to forget each other.

That thought made her feel sick.

Regardless of what had happened, it was obvious that she couldn't stay where she was much longer. In the morning she would leave.

She just didn't know where she would go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

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><p>The following morning, Severus found himself alone with 'Emma', his father heading out to work, and his mother too much of a coward to involve herself further with another witch, even if her husband was still unaware of her magical status.<p>

"Let the neighbours see her leave," she had urged her son. "Take her somewhere quiet to Apparate or put her on the bus into town. She needs to get back to her own people."

Which was ironic, coming from a witch.

His father had been told that Emma's parents were having car trouble, and as such, hadn't been able to collect her the night before. Severus was to put her on a bus to the city centre, and they would never see her again. Tobias Snape had conveniently chosen to forget that the girl had known his name.

Having grudgingly accepted that it was his lot in life to handle unpleasant situations with little thanks, Severus had dragged himself to his room to tell her she had to leave. To his surprise, she was already up and dressed. The bed was made and his mother's nightgown was lying on the pillow, carefully folded, while Emma Jones examined her reflection in the small mirror over the mantelpiece. He didn't like to sit on the bed that she had slept in, and so hovered by the door, hating the fact that he felt awkward in his own bedroom. His mother was right; it was time for her to leave.

He watched her carefully heal her minor injuries, barring the painful looking bruise above her left temple. She prodded it carefully, then winced. "Apparently I remember enough not to point my wand at my own head," she commented ruefully, aware of his stare. "Are you any good at Healing Charms?"

He was annoyed when his face flushed instantly. "Quite good," he declared, hoping she wouldn't look up. "But I'm not of age. I can only perform magic at Hogwarts."

"Oh," she sounded surprised, glancing up at him. "For some reason I thought you'd be older than me. How old are you?"

"Sixteen," he ground out. "How old are you?"

She frowned. "Do you know, I'm not at all sure. I _think_ I'm of age. How old do I look?" She turned to study her face in his small mirror, and he felt himself flush again. Luckily, she didn't seem to require an answer, as she suddenly brightened. "It could be quite useful if I was underage, though. If the Trace is still on my wand, it'd be a quick way of finding out who I am."

"You really don't remember?"

Her eyes met his in the mirror. "No."

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Severus let his hair fall back across his face.

-x-

They walked in silence towards the bus stop.

Putting an amnesiac witch onto public transport and hoping she could find her way back to her own life seemed unusually cruel to Severus. Emma, alone and dressed in odd, expensive looking clothes, was an open invitation to the darker elements to be found in the city. She had a wand, true, a wand that she seemed pretty proficient in using, but a wand wasn't much protection when you were confused and alone and taken by surprise. Severus had learned that the hard way.

He felt bad about just leaving her on her own. He examined the feeling further, probing it cautiously like a loose tooth. He was certain he didn't care enough to actually help her, though. He had only just met her, after all.

He sneaked yet another glance at her through the curtain of his hair. She was chewing her bottom lip as they walked in silence, a slight frown marring her face. She seemed calm enough though, simply walking along the dusty street beside him.

When had tersely informed her that he would show her to the bus stop, she had simply pulled her jacket on and checked the pockets to see if she had enough change for a ticket. She hadn't, all her money being of the wizarding variety, but his mother had already pressed the money on him before she left for work.

He decided he would wait with her until the bus came and make sure she got on okay. His mother had left enough money for him to ride into town with her, sensing his obvious distaste for the plan, and a small part of his had to acknowledge it was probably a good idea.

He could show her the train station.

She'd be fine.

"There's another witch, lives on the far side of town." The sound of his own voice took him by surprise. Emma's head snapped up.

"Do you think she could help?" He could tell she was careful to keep the censure out of her voice, but Severus could still hear the accusation. His family couldn't wait to abandon her.

"Maybe. She's Muggle-born, but she might recognise you. She's my age."

"Oh," her face fell, then brightened. "She'll probably be able to think of something."

They walked onwards, and silence descended once more. They left the river behind them and headed towards the more affluent part of town. They passed the sweetshop and cut across the park, the swings and roundabout busy with Muggle children enjoying their summer holiday. Snape hunched his shoulders and sped up, ignoring Emma as she struggled to keep pace.

Once they reached Tern Crescent, his stride shortened noticeably. He hadn't walked this way since last summer, despite wanting to every single day. Lily had made her feelings quite clear, and he supposed the least he could do now was respect her request that he leave her alone. Bringing Emma here was a breach of trust, but at least he could argue that it had been something of an emergency.

To his surprise, now that he had an excuse to visit, he found himself wishing he was heading anywhere else but. Lily's parents had never quite understood what their little girl had found to like in the sullen boy from the mill terraces and were unlikely to be welcoming now.

Emma slowed her pace, her face mirroring the uncertainty he felt. "Is this a good idea?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged. "It's the only one I have." Had he been less apprehensive, he would have doubtless been annoyed that she had read him so easily.

Emma nodded and set her shoulders in a show of readiness. She reached out and took his hand. "Let's go."

He stared at the fingers intertwined with his and sighed. His stomach was turning over at the very thought of seeing Lily again, of speaking to her. He didn't really have it in him to offer Emma any reassurance.

They walked up to the little detached house with its neat front garden and the car parked on the drive. Severus knew nothing about cars, but even he could appreciate that something so large and shiny with leather seats was bound to be expensive. Lily's father was obviously doing well for himself. One of the few traits Lily had shared with her obnoxious sister was her pride in her father's success and the fact that her mum had never had to go out to work, but instead was a full-time wife and mother. Mrs Evans' dedication to her family had always been readily apparent in their immaculate, yet welcoming house and the continual supply of home-baked cakes and biscuits she produced for her brood. It had been starkly at odds with his own house, a place he had never taken Lily inside despite the long tenure of their friendship. His father wouldn't have liked it. His mother would have been upset by it.

Shaking himself free of Emma's grasp, he reached up and knocked on the door.

After what felt like an eternity – but was most likely less than a minute – it opened, and a blond girl with pointed features looked down at them, the smile of welcome freezing on her face.

"You!" she hissed. "You're not wanted here!"

"Just go get Lily, Tuney." Severus ground out, unable to bring himself to be polite. Lily's Muggle sister had campaigned to undermine their friendship since the very beginning and was probably revelling in his fall from grace. "Don't get involved in things you don't understand."

Petunia Evans' rather prominent eyes narrowed in dislike. "Lily isn't home right now." She stepped back and made to shut the door.

"Lily!" Severus called. "Lily, there's a witch out here who wants to meet you!" His voice was barely raised enough to carry into the next garden, but its effect was immediate. Petunia pulled the door back open, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment. People were so easy once you found their weak spots.

"Fine!" she snapped. "I'll tell her you're here, but she won't want to see you anyway!"

The door slammed shut and, remembering that he had an audience, Severus turned to glare at Emma, daring her to comment on the unusual welcome they had just received.

She raised an eyebrow in response. "She seems nice."

He felt himself relax minutely. "She hates magic."

"Ah." Emma replied noncommittally, before taking a half step backwards as a new silhouette approached, framed in the pretty glass panelling of the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

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><p>Emma had taken Severus' hand automatically, then had immediately wished she hadn't, certain he was going to shake her off. To her surprise, he hadn't even commented, but had simply let her tangle her fingers with his, as they took the final steps towards the neat little house with lace curtains and a rockery in the front garden. It was obvious that he was regretting bringing her here, regretting even mentioning the Muggle-born witch that lived here. He disliked Muggles, that much was obvious, and it was quite possible that his distaste ran to cover Muggle-borns as well.<p>

Normally such bigotry would have offended her – something else she needed to add to her growing list – but his discomfort stopped her from speaking. This was more than just simple prejudice. If she didn't know better, she would say that Severus Snape was afraid.

The welcome they had received from the rather horse-faced girl had left her in little doubt that Severus was not welcome in this house. Maybe the prejudice was reversed; maybe he was not wanted, as he came from an obviously poor household.

She glanced sideways at his baggy clothes. Fashions here seemed strange to her, but even she could see he was badly dressed, his clothes probably cast-offs from his father.

Her heart went out to him then.

She knew what it was like to be an outsider, to not be accepted. She didn't know how she knew this, but the pain she could feel on his behalf felt like empathy, not sympathy. His silly dislike of Muggles paled slightly compared to the fact he was facing prejudice himself to try and help her. It seemed oddly noble coming from a boy who couldn't wait to be rid of her.

She stilled the sudden urge to take his hand once more, and took a half step closer to him instead.

-x-

The door opened to reveal a red-headed girl who was probably very pretty when not scowling fit to curdle milk. As it was, the similarity between her and her blond sister was striking. Emma made an internal vow to always remember the effect an expression could have on a face, even one that was pretty to begin with.

The girl didn't even glance in her direction, for which Emma was glad. Instead, she glared down at Severus from her position on the door step. "You can't be here," she sniffed. "James and his parents are on their way."

Severus paled noticeably, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but his voice was level, almost dismissive, when he spoke. "Believe me, I have no interest in taking up any more of your time than strictly necessary, Evans. "

The redhead's eyes narrowed. "'Evans'? Didn't take you long to change your tune, did it?"

Snape shrugged. "You made yourself clear. We aren't friends. I won't come again, but this girl needs to speak with you."

"Does she, now?" Disturbingly green eyes finally found Emma's. "What do you need to speak about?"

Thrown by the bluntness of her question, Emma found herself glancing at Severus for help, but his gaze was stonily fixed on the ground. It was obvious that there was far more going on between the two of them than she was aware of, and again, she wondered at Severus' willingness to bring her here. "You don't recognise me?" she eventually choked out.

"Should I?"

Emma sighed. If the Snapes' plan had been to offload her onto this Evans girl's family, they were out of luck. Nothing could be less welcoming than the girl's frosty reception. "Probably not," she admitted. "We'll leave you be."

She turned to the awkward-looking boy beside her when a call from inside the house caught their attention.

"Hurry up, Lily! The fire's gone green!"

Severus caught her elbow and pulled her down the path. Emma was half way down the path – and had already realised just how much she had been relying on the obviously reluctant Severus to miraculously be able to help her - when a voice from the house caused him to spin.

"Going already, Snivellus?"

Severus turned so quickly that Emma stumbled, caught in his momentum. She steadied herself and glanced up, only to step back when she caught the murderous expression on his face. His pale skin seemed almost entirely drained of blood, and she could tell from the angle of his arm that he had his wand grasp tightly in his pocket. She followed his gaze to the boy leaning idly in the doorway.

Her chest constricted in recognition.

The messy black hair, the boyish face – it was _him_! She elbowed past Severus, ignoring his hissed reproach, desperate to reach the first person she had recognised since fainting at Tobias Snape's feet. The lounging boy transferred his contemptuous gaze to her, a flicker of interest and uncertainty marring his familiar features.

As she moved closer, a horrid sense of wrongness flooded her stomach, rooting her to the spot. She searched the boy's face and found it somehow lacking. His eyes were wrong. The face she had hoped she had found wasn't cruel or arrogant.

It was wrong, just wrong.

The dizziness from the day before returned, and she felt as if she might be sick. Clutching both hands to her stomach, she stepped backwards. The boy – James – dismissed her disdainfully, his eyes flicking back over her shoulder.

Confused by her own reaction, and suddenly desperately afraid, she took refuge again behind her glowering companion.

She was lost.

-x-

Snape had no time to pay attention to Emma's odd behaviour, using Potter's momentary distraction to half ease his wand from his pocket and consider his options. This was the first time they had ever met outside of Hogwarts or the school train, and he had no idea how far the Gryffindor was likely to take things, especially as he seemed to be lacking his usual stooges.

This was a Muggle area and the use of magic was strictly prohibited, even if he was of age. Severus was unlikely to be arrested, given his youth, but his expulsion from Hogwarts was almost guaranteed should he give into the urge to let a hex fly.

Why did James Potter have to choose today of all days to deign to visit a Muggle residence? His stomach had clenched uncomfortably when Lily had casually mentioned that his parents were visiting too, as if he didn't know what that meant. Had she got over her distaste for the arrogant pure-blood that quickly?

Potter grinned. "Lost for words? That isn't like you. Aren't you at least going to say hello? It's only polite, you know. But then maybe you don't; manners never were your strong point, where they?"

Severus snorted. "Where as this display is bound to be impressing your Muggle hosts."

"Defending their daughter?" Potter shrugged. "I rather imagine it is."

Severus felt Emma's hand on his elbow. "Can we just leave, please?" She asked in a quiet, unhappy voice. He ignored her, never breaking eye contact with the Gryffindor.

"Yes, Snivellus, why don't you run away? I'm sure Lily's made it very clear that you aren't welcome," Potter mocked. Risking a glance at the house, Severus could see the outline of observers in the bay window. It seemed as if none of the adults were going to involve themselves. James saw the glance and smirked.

"Don't worry, they know all about you. I don't think anyone will be helping you, given what you said." He slid his wand slowly from his pocket and held it by his side, the tip pointing casually towards Severus. "I doubt they'd even mind if I was to teach you another lesson."

Emma's grip on his elbow was almost painful now, and he could hear her chanting at him in a whisper to just ignore the boy and leave. It was an impossible situation. He couldn't just back down, his pride wouldn't allow him to, and he had a feeling that Potter would likely curse him the moment his back was turned. Doubtless his father would be able to smooth things over with the Ministry, should his only son _get carried away. _Even this far from Hogwarts, James Potter only faced him when the odds were on his side.

If he were at school, Snape would have attacked already, simply to give himself the advantage. He knew Lily was watching from somewhere inside, no doubt egging her _boyfriend_ on. Surely she could see Potter's silly posturing for what it was? Hadn't she always expressed distaste for his arrogant posing?

He adjusted his grip on his wand, his mind racing. If he were to use magic, even in self-defence, he would lose his place in Hogwarts. If he were to back down, he would probably be hit by a hex and not be able to remove it without using his wand, and lose his place at Hogwarts. Tauntingly, Potter began to slowly raise his own wand.

Snape made to draw his own, but suddenly found his path blocked by Emma as she advanced furiously on his assailant, her earlier unsteadiness completely gone.

"Put your wand away, you ridiculous boy!" she snapped. "Even if your family's been allowed to hook a Muggle fireplace to the Floo Network, I doubt they're important enough to get away with it if the Ministry has to have half the street Obliviated!"

Potter's mouth dropped open in surprise. Severus quickly snapped his own closed. The Gryffindor's wand dropped loosely to his side, but Emma continued to admonish him, her voice dropping to a hiss so as not to carry to those inside the house.

"Let me guess. Pure-blood, right? Rich, only child, usually surround yourself with imposing friends?" Her tone was caustic, mocking. "I've met your type before and can only assume your attempting to make up for some pretty serious shortcomings."

Potter opened his mouth to retaliate, but she didn't give him a chance to speak. Severus doubted that anyone other than Lily had ever spoken to him quite so harshly, and even then, never with such venom.

Her tone became quietly considering as she nodded towards the house. "Your parents seem to love you, so I'm guessing it's something a little bit more personal, huh, James? Now run back to your tea party before I report you. We're leaving!"

She grabbed Snape's hand and laced her fingers tightly with his despite the dampness of his skin, and pulled him unceremoniously down the street, leaving James Potter open-mouthed in their wake.

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

><p>She had dragged him down three streets before he stopped staring at Emma long enough to realise they were heading in the wrong direction. At the Malton Hill T-junction, she slowed to a halt, her breathing ragged, and bright pink spots burned on each of her cheeks.<p>

Part of him was incensed that a girl had once again felt the need to fly to his rescue. The rest of him, however, was simply in awe of the Fury that was Emma Jones. He couldn't help but wonder what punishment she had meted out to the 'arrogant pure-blood' Potter had so forcibly reminded her of. He meant to snarl at her, but when he finally caught his breath, the first thing out of his mouth was "Did you just imply . . . ?"

"That darling James has got a tiny prick?" she spat. "That was what I was going for, although I like to think I left it open enough for him to read any level of insult from it. The twat." She sighed and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands, all traces of her sudden anger fading as abruptly as it had arrived. "Apparently, I'm not very nice, though. That's something to add to the list."

"The list?" he asked faintly, shocked at hearing her swear. She seemed a bit too well-spoken for that kind of thing. Perhaps she wasn't as nice as he'd first believed either, but all things considered, he wasn't so sure that was such a bad thing.

She pushed her hands inside her pockets, looking a little sheepish. "I'm making a list of everything I know to be true, in the hope it'll make a bit more sense," she explained. "It's very short so far."

She positively beamed at him when he replied, "That makes sense."

-x-

Severus led the way onto Malton Road, and they walked on in silence, looping back on themselves, away from the newer houses and back towards town. Soon they had left the pretty houses with the gardens behind, and were back to the more familiar rows of sooty workers' houses with their networks of alleyways and yards.

"Lily was pretty much the only plan I had," he finally admitted, unhappily. "I thought she might be willing to help you, but I should have known that Potter would be sniffing around."

Emma stopped short. "Potter," she repeated quietly, then shook her head. "Urgh! This is all just so frustrating!" She scuffed the toe of her shoe against the pavement and bit her lip, a gesture Severus had already come to recognise.

"What?" he demanded impatiently.

She looked away. "I thought I recognised him. James Potter. For a moment, I was certain he was someone I knew, and it made me feel like I was suddenly free of this horrible uncertainty. Then I realised I didn't know him, and he didn't know me, that I was seeing someone else in his face, but I still had no idea who." She grimaced. "That's partly the reason why I reacted like that. I hope I'm not usually that aggressive. It didn't feel particularly nice."

"You recognised my father, too," he reminded her gently.

"So you said. I don't actually remember it, or what he looks like. I just remember that he wasn't who I thought he was either. It's as if both he and James had something intrinsically wrong with their faces but I can't remember what it could be." Her voice quavered slightly as she continued. "I'm afraid someone may have placed a Memory Charm on me."

For one awful moment, Severus had been convinced she was about to cry. She sniffed softly, and then again more loudly. Their circuitous walk had brought them close to the high street, and the chip shop had their fryers going for the lunch time trade. Emma pursed her lips, her face suddenly brighter.

"If I were just to Apparate away from here do you think we could use the bus money for a cone of chips? I'm starving!"

-x-

They sat on the kerb, sharing the chips in silence. Although he had known Emma for less than a day Severus found he was already oddly comfortable sharing silence with her. She didn't seem to feel the need to make continual small talk and didn't require him to do so either. He still resented her for his having to spend the night on the sofa, but it was hard to be completely out of sorts with someone when they let you have all the soggy bits at the bottom of the cone.

He had just come to the conclusion that maybe she was perhaps not that bad when she turned her thoughtful gaze to him.

She had a very direct way of looking at him. It was a little disconcerting.

"How are you doing?" The question caught him by surprise, a fact which must have been written loud on his face, as she grinned wryly before continuing. "You and Lily seem like you've got a history."

He had rather enjoyed knowing one person who didn't know of the spectacular end to their friendship.

"We were friends. Now we're not," he answered eventually. No one needed to hear the details of that day, and he certainly had no intention of repeating them.

"Good friends?" she pressed, apparently unable to take a hint. Severus ground his teeth together.

"I thought so."

"Hmm," came the considered reply. He pulled his knees up as a lone car drove slowly past and glared at the cracked leather of his shoes, relieved that the conversation was over. Two minutes later Emma spoke again.

"She's very pretty."

"It's none of your business!" he snarled. He immediately regretted his response when he caught the look of understanding that flickered across her face. He glared at her but she merely shrugged before standing up and brushing down her jeans.

"Come on, then. If I'm to be abandoned on a street corner, we had better start looking for a good one. Preferably one with a corner shop; all that vinegar's made me thirsty." She held out a hand to help him up. He ignored it and scrambled to his feet.

She smiled.

-x-

They shared a can of pop as they slowly made their way back across town. The late afternoon saw them down beside the canal near his house, idly watching the ducks that drifted down the murky looking water. Emma pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil Severus recognised as his own from the pocket of her jacket and begun to add a few notes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Severus hadn't realised she was actually _writing_ her list down.

"You can stay," he offered suddenly.

She looked up, confused. "Huh?"

He felt himself flush and returned his gaze to the canal. "You can have my room again if you want. I'll think of an excuse. Mum won't say anything."

She stared at him and, even without meeting her eyes, he could tell he was being treated to that direct, considering gaze. He let his hair fall to cover his face, annoyed.

"Thank you, Severus." She answered eventually. "She's an idiot, you know."

"That's no way to talk about my mother," he drawled, leaning back against the high bank.

She pushed him playfully. "You know what I mean. Whatever it was you did that upset her, she should have forgiven you. Maybe she still will. Real friends do, eventually."

"Just leave it be," he warned her.

-x-

Sneaking her back into his room was as easy as he had predicted. Neither of his parents were home, and they had snuck up the little alleyway at the back of the house to avoid the prying eyes of any neighbours, through the brick yard with its dingy line of washing and lopsided brick outhouse, and on through the back door.

Nothing showed on Emma's face as she passed through the tiny kitchen, but Severus was easily able to see the shabbiness of it from her perspective. Although she had accused Potter of being spoilt, it was easy to see she came from a well-off family. She even swore poshly. He hurried her through the door and up the stairs before she had too much time to look around.

Once in his room he sat stiffly in his desk chair, completely at a loss. Talking to Emma outside had been one thing, but this was another entirely. He had never entertained a girl in his room before. He wasn't entirely certain that he liked it.

Emma perched on the end of the bed and looked round in interest, before getting up again and wandering uninvited to his bookcase. His room was sparsely furnished and his school books were amongst the most personal things he owned. Watching her trail a finger along their spines made him feel oddly exposed.

She pulled his mum's old copy of Libatius Borage from the shelf and began to leaf idly through the tatty pages. Suddenly she gasped.

He was at her side in an instant. "What is it?" Glancing down he saw she had opened the book to the already heavily annotated directions for the Draught of Living Death.

"Your handwriting," she breathed, turning another leaf to examine the next page and the one after that. "It's – it's terrible!"

He pulled the book from her hands and tossed in irritably onto the bed.

"You should go to Gringotts," he announced suddenly, hoping to draw her away from his possessions. "If you have an account there then there will be a record on you. Your wand would be enough identification."

"That's a very good idea. Even if they don't have all my details, just my name would be a start." She smiled suddenly. "And with Goblins being so wonderfully discreet, there's little chance of them informing St Mungo's that I'm wandering round with half my memories gone." Her eyes travelled back to his books.

"Failing that," he added, warming once more to the idea of getting rid of her, "we could try Ollivander's. Or Hogwarts; see of any of the staff recognise you. Dumbledore even," he shrugged.

"No!" The quiet vehemence in her voice surprised him. "No, not him," she added more calmly.

And with that, she flickered like a failing light bulb and vanished from his sight.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

* * *

><p>Severus sat on his bed and stared at the empty space were Emma Jones had stood only hours before. There had been no crack of Apparition when she had disappeared, only a strange susurration like the tide as it turned.<p>

Since her strange and sudden disappearance both of his parents had returned home from work. He had joined them at the little kitchen table for tea. It was beans on toast; apparently the longed for wage increase at the mill had failed to materialise yet again. His father had dominated the conversation, venting his frustration with the site union and warning his wife repeatedly that strike action was weeks away, at most.

In the brief pause as he stopped to light a cigarette, Eileen turned to her son.

"What time did Emma leave?"

"Not long after you left for work," he replied, not looking up from his plate.

Tobias Snape leant back and blew out a long breath of smoke. "Did her parents come and get her in the end?"

"No, I walked her to the high street to get the bus." Technically that was true. The bus stop had been their original destination; they had just taken a rather large detour and then spent the bus money at the chip shop instead.

"Did she get the bus all right?" his mother pressed. Severus glanced up at her, noticing the tension around her eyes. He hadn't realised just how uncomfortable his mother had been to have another witch nearby.

He weighed his words carefully. "I watched her go." Hopefully his father would believe she had left on a bus, his mother could believe she had Apparated away. The truth was a little stranger.

-x-

The space she had vanished from seemed to haunt his room. He gave the area by his little bookcase a wide berth each time he crossed his to his desk and back.

The awful part was that he was certain Emma hadn't intended to leave. She had been speaking to him moments before she had left and her wand had been in her pocket. No one, no matter how skilled a witch or wizard they were, attempted wandless Apparition; the chance of splinching was just too great. No, he was certain that Emma had been snatched away against her will.

He thought back to their conversation. Going to Gringotts seemed like a pretty basic idea, really, and he was annoyed with himself that he hadn't thought of it earlier. Ollivander's was an even better idea. The strange, pale-eyed wizard seemed to remember every wand he had ever sold, and, although Severus was no expert, he was pretty sure Emma's wand was British-made.

It was the final part of their conversation that made him uncomfortable. Emma's reaction when he suggested that they turn to Albus Dumbledore had been a little extreme. Since his defeat of Grindelwald some thirty years before, Dumbledore had been celebrated as one of the great wizards of the modern age. Severus had little experience of him outside his role as an administrator and occasional disciplinarian, but could think of no reason why Emma should distrust him.

Could he have been involved in Emma's disappearance? In her missing memories? Just the thought that the Headmaster of Hogwarts had somehow been involved in Emma's disappearance was terrifying. Could Emma have been involved in the Dark Arts? Had she somehow antagonised one of the pillars of the wizarding community?

All he had were guesses, and none of them seemed to add up. As far as he could tell, Emma had simply been an ordinary witch. There had been no trace of darkness about her, nothing to mark her out as being different other than her clothes, her missing memories, and her unexplained disappearance.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he tried to think of a more reasonable explanation for her sudden disappearance. Nothing presented itself.

There was nothing he could do but wait.

That evening he sat and waited in his room, his eyes fixed upon the spot where she had vanished, listening to the quiet sounds of the street as the summer evening began to fade.

Eventually, once the room was bathed in moonlight, he conceded defeat. He changed for bed in the bathroom, just in case.

-x-

Despite having spent the previous night lying cramped on his parents' sofa, his sleep was uneasy, and he woke often at each tiny sound that drifted through his open window.

As a result, he slept late and only woke at the sound of his mother shutting the front door on her way to work. He rubbed his eyes blearily as he sat up, staring round his little room in confusion. It looked the same as always.

He dressed in the bathroom and returned to his room. It felt as if he were keeping vigil for the missing girl. He sat in his room all day, his eyes continually flicking back to the space beside his bookcase. Eventually, his rumbling stomach sent him downstairs for something to eat.

This was the first full day he had spent in the house that summer.

It felt lonelier than ever.

He tried reading. He tried working on the projects he had set himself for the summer. He had thought of a thousand things to do that holiday to prevent himself from feeling the gaping hole Lily had left in his life. Now, none of them were working.

It wasn't as if he'd been friends with Emma, though she had been nice enough. She was easy company, even if she had been forced on him by fate. Getting her back to wherever it was she belonged had given him a sense of purpose yesterday, and now that it was gone, he found his current solitude to be even less bearable than before.

And, frankly, he was worried about her. Even in the wizarding world it generally wasn't a good thing for people to vanish without any explanation.

He couldn't quite bring himself to leave his room for any longer than completely necessary. He ate his lunch at breakneck speed and burnt his mouth gulping down his cup of tea.

He sat stewing in his room, ignoring his parents' return home from work until he was called down for tea. His mum had taken on some extra hours, and there were chops for tea. His father was in a rare good mood, usually a sign that he was about to head out to the pub to share his cheer with people other than his family. Severus endured every minute of it in silence.

Severus helped clear the table, but his distraction became clear when he managed to drop a plate he was supposed to be drying. His mother sighed as she fetched the brush and pan, wrapping the sharp pieces in newspaper before placing them in the bin. Severus had to grit his teeth to stop himself from commenting. She could have repaired it in a heartbeat with magic if she had wished. It was just another sign of how far removed she was from her own heritage.

He finished the drying-up in silence before stalking to his room and slamming the door, anger, and something darker still, churning in his stomach. Part of him still hoped he could turn to the woman who had gifted him with his magic, especially at times like this when he was so confused. The incident with the plate had reminded him that she would be unwilling – and most likely unable – to answer his growing questions about the witch they had taken in off the street. Eileen Snape had turned her back on magic. Chosen her husband's world over her son's.

He kicked off his shoes and lay back on the bed, staring unseeing at the ceiling, trying to force himself to calm down.

He needed to tell someone.

His mother was obviously not the person to confide in. The removal of Lily Evans from his life meant that his usual person to talk things through with couldn't help either. Who, then? Was this the sort of thing that needed to be reported to an Auror? And if so, how did an underage wizard get hold of the wizarding equivalent of a policeman? His family didn't even have a telephone, let alone an owl or a Floo connection.

He wondered if any of his housemates could advise him. Lucius Malfoy had suggested that the younger Slytherin should feel free to contact him should he ever needed help or advice, but even if Severus wasn't uncomfortably on taking him up on the offer – or if he even had a way to get in contact without an owl – then what could he possible say?

"I met a witch, very possibly a Muggle-born, with absolutely no recollection of who she was or where she was from. Then, just as things were getting interesting, she vanished without trace."

Even if Malfoy didn't piss himself laughing, then what possible advice could he offer? Given his private attitude to those with less than pure blood, he probably would consider her disappearance to be a good thing. It would save having to hide the body.

The worse part was that nobody other than himself had any idea what had occurred. Perhaps Emma had a loving family somewhere that missed her dreadfully and was currently scouring the country looking for her, but for all he knew he might be the only person who knew what had happened to her. And he wasn't even sure what that was.

How could he explain it to someone else if he couldn't even explain it to himself?

Perhaps he was over-thinking everything. Perhaps he had simply missed the normally distinctive crack of Apparition. Perhaps something he had said had suddenly jogged her memory, and she had returned home, not bothering with a goodbye to the boy whose life she had so unceremoniously invaded.

No matter where she had gone it was clear that she wasn't coming back.

That night he undressed casually for bed, not bothering to worry about Emma's sudden reappearance. She had blown into his life, and, with the change of the wind, she had gone again. He settled down into bed and placed his wand carefully under the pillow before turning out the bedside light.

He wouldn't stay indoors tomorrow; it was just too depressing. He would walk out along the towpath until he reached the lock, then cut across the fields to the little wood and walk until he was calm. Things would carry on just as before.

Nothing had changed.

He was alone again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

><p>Emma concurred that heading to Diagon Alley did make a lot more sense than hoping that an underage, Muggle-born witch might be able help her. Severus even had a good idea in approaching the Hogwarts staff. Such a large collection of experienced, magical persons must surely have encountered her bizarre form of memory modification before. However, his casual suggestion to visit Dumbledore caused her stomach to clench.<p>

"No!" she exclaimed. She didn't want to go anywhere near the celebrated headmaster of Hogwarts. For some unknown reason, ever since she had seen his name in _Hogwarts: A History_, she had felt a strange dislike for Albus Dumbledore. Dislike or maybe even distaste. She couldn't explain it, not even to herself, but somehow she was sure that he was not to be trusted. She took a deep breath and spoke more calmly, aware that her reaction had caused Severus to glance up in surprise. "No, not him," she concluded, rather lamely.

Something happened then. Something odd.

The room suddenly dimmed, as if a great darkness was rising up to meet her. She felt dizzy and uncomfortable, and her legs couldn't seem to support her.

Thankfully, as swiftly as the feeling had appeared, it left her. The darkness receded, and her vision cleared. Turning back to Severus to demand if he had felt the bizarre and clearly magical sensation, she found him gone.

He had vanished in the split second it had taken for the magic to whirl around her. She had her wand from her pocket in a heartbeat, considering what spell could possibly help her to decipher what had happened to him.

She jumped as the door opened, and a startled-looking Severus stared back at her in shock.

"How did you do that?" she demanded. Honestly, as far as unintentional magic went, that had been very impressive, but she had no wish to see her only friend in this strange place to be dragged before the Ministry for underaged magic.

Severus ignored her question, closing the door quietly and turning to stare at her, his arms folded tightly over his chest.

"Where did you go?" he hissed.

"Go? I've been here the whole time – you're the one that suddenly disappeared!"

He frowned. "Emma, you've been gone for nearly two days."

She stared at him blankly. "I never left," she argued softly. "The lights dimmed, I felt strange, like the moment just before you Apparate. Then everything came back, and you walked into the room."

They stared at each other until the silence was broken by the sound of the front door slamming as one his parents left for work.

"I'm telling the truth," she whispered, searching his face.

"So am I," he replied.

-x-

He fetched her a cup of tea and let her sit on the bed while she processed his version of events. Not only had she lost her memory, butnow she had somehow lost the last thirty-six hours. She was beginning to wonder if she would have to become accustomed to the sick feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach.

They talked quietly about what both of them had seen and felt at the moment she had vanished. Severus had not felt the stifling press of magic that had washed over her, but she was surprised to learn she had flickered briefly before vanishing.

"It certainly wasn't Apparition, then. With that, you are either here or there, there's no midpoint," she mused.

Severus leaned back in his desk chair, his long legs stretched before him. "Maybe both our versions are correct. Maybe you moved, not from place to place, but from Monday evening to this morning."

Emma shook her head. "Spontaneous time travel isn't even a theoretical possibility. The spellwork behind time-turners is a closely guarded secret that even most Goblin craftsmen would be at a loss to explain, and even they can't take someone over twelve hours back in time. Travel forwards, to time that hasn't happened yet, isn't even mentioned. Wizards who attempt it simply cease to exist."

"Maybe you ceased to exist," he reasoned. "Until the time you were aiming for existed too."

"If I did then it undermines Gamp's Third Law of Elemental Transfiguration. You can't create pre-existing life out of nothing, least of all a time-travelling amnesiac," she snorted, before catching his expression. "What?"

"Do you wonder how you know these things? I've never even seen a Time Turner, let alone studied their capabilities. You know mid-level healing spells even if you don't know how you know them. You have all these dormant memories of people and places that only surface when you are reminded of them." He spoke levelly, his words carefully considered. "You recognised my father. You thought you might know James Potter."

"Where are you going with this?"

He folded his arms over his chest. "I just think it's a little strange that you arrived on the doorstep of the only magical family in a two mile radius, especially considering that us and the Evanes are the only magical families this side of Macclesfield. The chances of you finding us were miniscule, and yet here you are."

Emma sat back, her empty mug loose in her fingers. "You're right," she breathed. She hadn't even considered things from that angle. "You have a very clever mind, Severus Snape." She added, kindly ignoring the less than attractive blush that immediately stained his cheeks. "Highly suspicious, admittedly, but very clever."

She sat up, carefully placing the mug on the floor. "Okay then, Oh Insightful One, why the hell am I here?"

"I hadn't got quite that far," he admitted. "I can't, for the life of me, understand why anybody would want to come here."

Emma rolled her eyes at him, the uncomfortable feeling lifting from her as she smiled at the boy's dubious expression. "Oh, I don't know," she answered breezily. "It has a certain charm. The chip shop, for one, is amazing. I haven't had chips fried in dripping for years!"

"What do they fry them in where you come from?"

The pulled her up short. "Something else?" she hazarded, vaguely. "The point is, even if I didn't mean to arrive here, I'm very glad that I did. You've been an amazing friend to me so far."

The small smile that had been slowly spreading over his face vanished at that, and Emma wanted to kick herself. Of course he didn't think of her as a friend, and she hoped he didn't think she wasn't implying that he had to help her further. She was just incredibly grateful that she had found herself with someone who could grasp the difficulty of her situation and talk through everything with her without simply packing her off to St Mungo's.

He cleared his throat. "Maybe we should try Gringotts. If we can work out who you are, the whys should answer themselves."

She stood up with alacrity, glad for the change in the conversation. "That is another very good idea," she answered brightly. "Do you think your mum would mind if we Disapparate from inside the house?"

"Now?"

"Why not?" she asked. "Oh, I mean, if you don't want to go, that's fine. You probably thought you were rid of me..." She shifted her weight to her other foot, feeling stupid for the second time in as many minutes.

"No, I'll come," he shrugged. "I just need to get my cloak."

-x-

Severus took his time sorting through his school trunk by the bare light bulb of the cellar, replaying their conversation in his mind. Although he was suspicious about Emma's sudden reappearance, he was finding it harder and harder to remain suspicious about _her_. He had half expected her to become defensive when he had voiced his thoughts about her arriving on his street, at the very moment his parents had been retuning home. Instead she had grasped at the idea, just as she had done his suggestion to try the wizarding establishments of Diagon Alley.

It was all very odd.

What had started out as a rather unwanted interlude to his summer holiday was becoming more and more intriguing by the minute. Emma probably thought he was being nosy, accompanying her to London, and that honestly wasn't far from the truth. There were so many unanswered questions, he simply had to go with her.

Besides, he couldn't really let her go on her own. She'd probably wander blithely down Knockturn Alley if he wasn't there to stop her.

Unearthing his cloak, he shook the creases out as best he could and glanced round guiltily before fastening it securely at his throat. Wearing magical clothing outside of school felt wrong. Part of him was certain his parents would arrive home unexpectedly and catch him.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs.

Feeling guiltier still, he turned and made his way to the darkest corner of the cellar. It took him a while to move the clutter aside, but eventually he managed to clear a path to the battered cardboard box that contained his mother's old possessions.

-x-

As Emma waited, perched on end of the bed, she wondered how she had ever mistaken Severus for being older than herself when he was so wonderfully adolescent. He was surly, uncommunicative, and prone to blushing fiercely at the slightest thing. He was blushing again as he re-entered the room, his long black cloak billowing slightly as he crossed the room towards her. He wordlessly handed her a bundle of cloth before moving to place her empty mug on the desk.

It was a cloak; dark green in colour and slightly musty smelling. She shook it out and draped it round her shoulders, carefully fastening the clasp at her throat, oddly touched by the gesture. Was Muggle clothing frowned on in Diagon Alley? She wasn't sure.

She smiled at him then, so widely she was glad he was still studiously looking the other way. This was why she had found herself turning to him from the very beginning. He was sulky and silent, and she doubted he had ever held a door open for anyone is his life, but Severus Snape would look after you whether he wanted to or not.

Whatever design or destiny had landed her on his doorstep, Emma Jones was grateful to have met him.

"Have you ever gone Side-Along before?" she asked, ignoring his sudden smirk at her unintentional double entendre.

"I haven't," he answered seriously. "Have you ever taken anyone Side-Along before?"

It was her turn to smirk. "I'm not entirely without experience, young Severus. Now where would be best to Apparate to?"

He frowned. "Not that I'm an expert, but isn't it usually a requirement for the person Apparating to know the place they are heading to?"

"Destination, Determination, Deliberation," she replied succinctly. "Where to?"

"The yard behind the Leaky Cauldron."

"Describe it to me."

"It's a yard," he shrugged. "There are bottle crates, some dustbins. There's a brick wall you need to tap-"

"To access the Alley," she finished for him. "I remember now." She grasped her wand securely and reached for Severus's hand. "Now, you need to hold on tightly and try not to be sick," she cautioned.

"What?" he demanded before the air swallowed them with a resounding crack.

-x-

It was like being squashed into a space far too small for his body. Everything went black, and he felt the air being squeezed from his lungs and his breakfast being squeezed in his stomach.

The sensation itself lasted less than a second before light returned and he could gasp gratefully at the smoggy London air. Emma's warning about being sick reasserted itself, and he swallowed convulsively, decidedly less than steady on his feet.

"Horrible, isn't it?" Emma asked cheerfully. "It's easier when you do it yourself." When Severus didn't reply, she gave his finger's a squeeze before dropping his hand. "Do you want to head into the pub for a bit, have a sit down?"

"I'm fine," he protested, feeling anything but. "Let's just get moving."

-x-

The trip to Gringotts was less than successful.

The goblin they spoke to treated them with the utmost suspicion before caustically informing them that, unless they had an account, they had no business being in the bank. Emma's request to speak to speak to a manager was countered with an offer to bring out one of the security dragons. Emma had paled then, and allowed Severus to lead her back outside into the sunshine.

"That's just a rumour, you know," he assured her. "There aren't really dragons in there."

She huffed at that and set off down the street. By the time he had caught up with her she was standing outside Fancy Familiars staring wistfully at a litter of ginger kittens playing boisterously in a large cage in the window.

"I've got a fair bit of gold on me," she informed him quietly. "I should have thought to change some of it into Muggle currency while we were in there. I doubt they'll let me back in now."

"Goblins aren't allowed wands of their own. There's a small chance he may have thought you were making a joke at his expense, handing it over like that."

"A small chance? They're the prickliest creatures around," she sniggered, before becoming contrite. "Although that's hardly surprising given the years of persecution they've suffered at the hands of wizardkind. Anyway, I would have liked to pay you back for the chips"

Severus nodded at a glass fronted shop on the other side of the street. "Why don't you buy me an ice-cream instead?"

They sat at one of the little tables outside, sharing a massive concoction of cream, cherries, and raspberry ice cream. It was rather too sickly, but it was fun to be in Diagon Alley and not to have to rush from store to store to finish their purchases and return home. Severus watched the shoppers passing by. _This_ was the real wizarding world, not the hothouse environment at Hogwarts. In just one more year, he would have finished his schooling, and he would be free to leave the Muggle world behind and truly become a wizard.

He could hardly wait.

He tensed slightly as a group of Hufflepuffs from the year below strolled past, laughing. They didn't look up from their conversation and Severus was surprised to feel slightly disappointed. For the most part he wanted to keep Emma a secret; their mission to uncover her identity was uniquely theirs, and he didn't wish to share it with anyone. Yet a tiny, oddly vocal part of him wished that someone he knew would walk past a see him sharing a sundae with the pretty, older witch.

She was definitely older than him, he had decided, although it was hard to tell just how old given her small stature. She was at least eighteen, he mused. No older than twenty though, despite the occasional look in her eyes that suggested she was older still.

She glanced up and caught him staring. He glared automatically and was surprised to be treated to a rather guilty smile in response.

"I know, I know," she sighed. "I'm just stalling."

She placed her spoon down on the table and stood, collecting her cloak from the back of the chair.

"Let's go see what the wandmaker can tell us."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

><p>Emma was certain she had been inside the wandmaker's shop before. She didn't exactly <em>remember<em> it, but there was a certain familiarity about the long, wooden counter and the rows of boxes piled high on sagging shelves. When Ollivander himself appeared behind the counter she realised that she must have been mistaken; there was nothing familiar about the ascetic looking wizard in his muted robes, his fading hair shot through with grey. He had rather unnervingly pale eyes that lingered on her face before flicking to Severus where he stood just behind her.

"Mr Snape," he nodded. "Twelve and a quarter inches, mahogany, inflexible as I recall. My compliments to you. And who is your charming friend?"

Emma's heart sank down towards her toes. She hadn't realised just how much she had been depending on Severus' description of the strange wizard's uncanny ability to remember all those who purchased his wares.

"My name's Emma Jones, Mr Ollivander," she introduced herself as truthfully as she could. "I was hoping you might be able to help me with some questions about a wand."

He fixed her with a very direct stare. "I should certainly hope so, my dear. That is, after all, my livelihood."

Emma instantly worried that she might have offended him. "Oh, yes, of course," she agreed. "I have a wand here and I was wondering if you could tell me if it is one that you recognised. Or, if not, if you might know who had made it . . ."

He held out his hand and she retrieved her wand from her pocket, handing it over with a sense of trepidation. So much depended on what he _might_ be able to tell her. She held her breath.

He turned the wand over with his nimble fingers, then held it to examine it the sickly light coming through the dusty windows. He seemed to weigh it carefully in each hand, and then, to her dismay, sniffed it lightly.

Severus straightened beside her. They both waited silently for the bizarre examination to come to a close.

Ollivander took his tape measure out of his shirt pocket and scribbled a few measurements down in a little notebook from the same place. He then placed the wand on a set of scales to the side of the counter and noted that down, too. He looked up so suddenly that Emma had to prevent herself from taking a step backwards.

"Miss Jones, do you think I might trouble you to cast a spell with this wand? A simple Lumos perhaps?"

Glancing at Severus, she took the wand and lit the tip. The old man nodded and made another note.

"Maybe a slightly more detailed spell? Something more complex? Here." He placed his measuring tape on the desk, and Emma paused briefly before her mind supplied the odd information that tape to tapeworm was a N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration spell. Deciding to ponder over that unlikely piece of information at a later time, she frowned in distaste as she flicked her wand. The tape uncoiled slowly as it began to change shape. The thing on the counter squirmed slightly; its white, glistening head twitching slightly as it searched for food. Emma shuddered and changed it back.

"Interesting," came the reply as yet more notes were scribbled in the little dog-eared notebook. "If I may?" Ollivander took the wand again and placed it reverently on his side of the counter.

"Doubtless, you are aware of the old adage that the wand chooses the wizard, Miss Jones?" he began. "Now, not all wands are chosen straight away. Some of the wands in this shop were crafted over one hundred years ago and gifted to me by my father when I took over the business. I've worked here for seventy-four years and have fashioned thousands of wands in my time. Not all will sell during my lifetime." His eyes fixed on hers. "Yet I remember every single one."

"Do you know why I tell you this, Miss Jones? You see, it is my wish to impress upon you that your faith is not unfounded. You came here hoping that I might remember if I had been the one to make this wand. Well, I remember every single wand I have ever made and I remember every single wand I have ever sold. Do you see?"

Emma nodded silently. The gaze of his pale eyes was intense and uncomfortable, and she was grateful when his picked up his eyepiece and returned his scrutiny to her wand.

"Yes," he murmured, his voice dropping an notch as his turned her wand over slowly to catch what little light filtered through the dusty shop. "Every wand I have ever made, including this one. Oh, yes." Emma flinched as his focus flicked suddenly back towards her, her heart racing at this simple admission. "Vinewood and Dragon heartstring. Able certainly, perhaps a little precocious. Good for rather complex charm work. Yes, I remember making this wand, very clearly. But selling it? No."

"She didn't steal it, if that is what you mean," Severus growled suddenly. Emma started, she had all but forgotten he was there.

"Well of course she didn't," the wandmaker replied dismissively. "It would take an exceptionally stupid or daring person to return here and question me after taking a wand and, forgive me, Miss, you seem like neither. Clever, I don't doubt. Maybe even relentless in your pursuit of truth, and probably brave enough when you need to be. But not reckless. No, never that."

"I wouldn't know." Emma admitted faintly, now thoroughly confused as to what, precisely, the old man was trying to impart to her. She could feel tears starting to prickle in the corners of her eyes, but was at a loss as to why.

"Ah, and therein lies the rub. You came here hoping I could tell you to whom this wand belongs, correct?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Yet, given its complete compatibility with your magic we must conclude that it is yours, is that also correct?"

"Yes."

"And from this I must infer that you do not know the name of the witch who owns this wand because you do not know who you are?"

Now crying in earnest, Emma could only nod. Severus took a step closer to the counter but Ollivander waved him away.

"This grows more fascinating yet, I'm afraid. You see, I remember every single wand I have ever made and this particular wand very clearly indeed. Indeed, I only finished it yesterday."

"But that's impossible," interrupted Severus. "She's had it for at least four days already!"

The wandmaker slid the wand over to Emma as he replied. "Judging by the wear, she's had it a lot longer than that. Quite impossible of course, but there it is."

"So, Miss Jones, who doesn't know who she is, are you simply not of this time or are you not of this place?"

-x-

Severus followed Emma closely as she stormed back down the busy street to the Leaky Cauldron. He'd been rather taken aback when she had burst into tears in the dusty little shop and had worried that she might dissolve into full blown hysterics upon hearing what Ollivander had to say about her wand. To his amazement, she had simply pocketed her wand and thanked the wizard calmly before exiting the shop. Watching her retreating figure, he realised that now she seemed more angry than anything else.

He remembered his father's favourite words of caution, the ones he used to justify every argument he ever had with his wife. "Never try to understand how a woman thinks, boy. Especially not if that woman is as unnatural as your mother. You'll only make yourself out to be a fool."

For the first time in his life, he wondered if his father might actually be on to something.

-x-

He trailed her, easily keeping up with her angry stride, as she stormed down the busy Alley and through the back yard of the pub. By the time he had located her within the gloomy interior of the Leaky Cauldron, she was already perched on a bar stool, speaking briskly with the landlord.

"I'd like a whisky, please. And not a Firewhisky either, a _whisky_ whisky. And a pot of tea for two. And some sandwiches."

She knocked the whisky back in three short gulps, then led him to a little table in a dark alcove before pouring their tea in a far more ladylike fashion as they waited for the sandwiches.

She seemed composed.

Well, she seemed like she was bubbling away furiously just beneath the surface, but there was no further sign of tears, for which Severus was eternally grateful. He sipped his tea quietly, sensing that it was perhaps best wait until she was ready to talk.

They were half way through the sandwiches before the dam burst.

"Insufferable man," she suddenly hissed, placing her sandwich back on her plate with considerable force. "He knew the wand the moment it was out of my pocket. Why the theatrics?"

Severus watched her warily over his teacup. She picked up the sandwich again, then paused with it half way to her mouth to gesture with it instead. "'Judging by the wear she's had it a good deal longer than that' – couldn't he just have told me roughly how old the wand was? At least that would have given us some idea of how old _I_ am."

She finished the sandwich in annoyed silence, chewing ferociously. After the second pot of tea, however, she had calmed down considerably.

"At least we know a little more about your wand," Severus finally ventured, hoping to placate her.

Emma sighed and leant back in her chair. "A little," she admitted. "Though really it raised way more questions than it answered. Before this I was just a lost witch with no memory. What am I now?"

"He couldn't have known that," he pointed out. "This is bigger than just wand lore."

"And what did he mean, not of this place? Like I'm from some sort of parallel universe? I mean, please." She huffed in annoyance. "The idea that I'm lost in time is bad enough without suggesting I'm from an alternate reality."

"Could you be from the future, then?"

It was the question he had been dying to ask since Emma had stormed from the shop. He hadn't wanted to be the first to raise it. Asking the question out loud made it so much more real, absurd as it was.

"Maybe," came the faltering reply. "It would explain why I couldn't remember anything, I suppose, if none of those things had happened yet. Unless I chose to lose my memories because I knew how harmful it can be to try and alter past events. Although why I'd go back in time, knowing I'd have no idea why I was there, just seems beyond me." She placed her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. "This all seems beyond me," she admitted, quietly.

She didn't cry again, just sat there looking tired and defeated. Feeling unable to help, Severus simply sat watching her in silence. Eventually, their cups were cleared away and he glanced up at the clock over the bar.

"Let's go back home," he suggested. "It's nearly time for my tea, and my parents will get suspicious if I don't turn up for food. When I'm done, we'll go for a walk and clear our minds. See if we can't figure something out."

This seemed like the least helpful assurance he could offer, but Emma nodded and sat up, the darkness clearing from her eyes.

"That would be good."

He led the way back out to the untidy little yard and held out his hand. She took it in silence and pulled him closer until she was able to wrap her arms around his waist, her head resting lightly on his chest before the crushing dark of Apparition pulled them away.


	9. Chapter 9

_With thanks to **heartmom88** and **ofankoma** for all their help and support._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

* * *

><p>Emma Apparated them back to the little path under the canal bridge; the loud <em>crack!<em> scaring the ducks out of the water and up into the air. Severus let her stay with her head resting against his chest until she finally felt able to pull away. His smell, though not particularly pleasant, was oddly comforting and familiar all the same. The ubiquitous smell of teenage boy; sweat, cheap aftershave and a slight underlying mustiness.

Even though she felt ridiculous, hanging off him like this, it took her a moment longer before she was willing to let go.

She had never considered why she had been so willing to trust him, just overwhelmingly relieved that he had been willing to help her. Maybe she had a brother somewhere or a male best friend that he reminded her of. Or maybe it was just Severus himself.

Looking up, she found he was watching her with a strange look in his dark eyes.

"Will you be okay?" he asked, his voice grave.

"I'm not sure," she replied truthfully, "but I'll cope."

He studied her for a further full minute before nodding tersely and stalking away down the towpath, not bothering to say goodbye. Emma moved along the path until she found a patch of evening sunshine and settled back to watch as the disgruntled ducks slowly returned to the water.

No one else was using the path that evening, and she was able to sit in silence, watching the ducks and the strange patterns of the weeds as they swayed underwater. The mingled smells of the canal were strong but not unpleasant, and it was a relief to simply sit and let things pass her by. Although she had been quick to let her anger brush aside her fears in London, she could feel the anxiety building low in her stomach. She had been so certain that today would provide answers. Now she was uncertain even what questions she was supposed to be asking.

How could her wand belong to this world when she didn't? Why did she have no recollection of her true self? Why the half-memories and false memories? When she had first arrived she had thought she had known two of the very first people she had met. Yet in London she had walked passed hundreds of witches and wizards, studying their faces, and not a single one had been familiar to her.

She twisted the stubby grass between her fingers. Perhaps she had lost even more memories since arriving. Perhaps the person she once was was simply slowly unwinding until there would be nothing left.

Severus must have bolted his food, as he was back in very little time at all, his shoulders oddly hunched as he suggested they walk down the towpath. Together, they concealed their disillusioned cloaks under a tired-looking laurel near the bridge and trudged along the side of the canal, the litter-strewn banks towering up on either side. After a while, the banks levelled out, and Emma was able to catch glimpses of the industrial landscape on either side, endless masses of concrete and brick, wire fences and patches of scrubby-looking grass, broken up by the occasional row of tiny houses, their red bricks stained almost black with dust.

They talked quietly, mostly about inconsequential things, for which Emma was grateful. After her outburst in the pub that afternoon, she had found herself wanting nothing more than to shy away from the subject of herself entirely. She knew it was cowardly, but she just didn't have enough information to even begin to think of a solution. She still didn't even know what the true problem was. Ollivander's off-the-cuff query about where she was from had set her mind reeling.

She was tired, too. It had been early evening when she had been swallowed by the strange, spinning darkness that had carried her to this morning. Her waking day had been a good seventeen or eighteen hours long. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and just forget about all of this until tomorrow morning.

"Come on."

She looked up to find that Severus had left the towpath and was gesturing towards the dusty-looking field that ran beside it. Glancing back she realised they had passed the last building some time ago without her even noticing. Feeling guilty at her obvious distraction, she followed him cautiously into the long, desiccated grass, picking her way carefully across the uneven ground. It was a warm evening, and soon she had shrugged of her jacket and tied the arms around her waist as she stumbled forwards. When they reached the sparse trees on the far side, she was happy to rest a while in the cooler air under their branches.

Further ahead, the trees grew more closely together, and Emma realised they were at the beginnings of a little woodland. Her spirits lifted as Severus led her on in silence into the cool darkness of the trees, and the undergrowth became thick and lush under foot. It was like a little oasis, so close to the dusty, industrial landscape they had just left behind.

"This is lovely," she breathed as they came to rest in a little clearing. She could hear water close by and knew they weren't too far from a stream. She spread her jacket on the ground and sat, pulling her knees up to her chin.

Severus sat down across from her, his long legs stretched out in the dappled evening sunshine. It was hard to be certain in the gentle, greenish light, but Emma thought he might be blushing again, but at least the odd, pinched look had finally left his face. "I like to come here to think sometimes," he admitted. "Not many people know it's here."

"It's perfect," sighed Emma, resting her head on her arms. She could hear birds in the trees and the slight evening breeze rustling the branches overhead, and she felt herself start to relax. It was impossible not to in a place as lovely as this, and she suspected that was why Severus had brought her here.

"Stay with us tonight," Severus offered quietly. "We'll work something out tomorrow. And if we can't figure everything out in one day, then you can stay that night, too. Someone must be able to tell us _something_ about you, after all."

_It was just the right thing to say_, mused Emma dreamily as she lay back against her jacket, the last of the sunshine filtering down on her face through the canopy above.

-x-

He hadn't liked to rouse Emma from where she lay so peacefully, one arm resting behind her head, the other draped casually over her stomach. As such, it was dark when they finally began to pick their way back across the field, Emma's wand carefully lighting their path. Both his parents were in bed already when they got back, so sneaking Emma upstairs with the aid of a Silencing Spell was far easier than he had feared.

He dug the spare blankets out of the airing cupboard and made himself a rough bed on the floor of his room. Ideally he would have slept on the sofa again, but his parents would doubtless find him, and questions would be raised. He got changed in the bathroom, shrugging on his most covering pyjamas despite the warmth of the night. When he returned Emma had changed into the old shirt of his father's that he had found in the back of his wardrobe. The blue cotton reached almost to her knees. It wasn't until she folded her arms over her chest and cleared her throat that he realised he was staring.

She opened her mouth, but didn't have chance to speak as she suddenly began to flicker.

Severus lunged forward and grabbed at her, his long fingers closing round the top of her arm and yanking her towards him. She stumbled, wincing as he bruised her arm, and the alarming flickering stopped.

He cautiously let go.

She rubbed her arm ruefully. "How long was I away?" she asked in a small voice.

"You didn't go at all. You just flickered, like before. It stopped when I grabbed you." The relief on her face pushed him to ask, "How did it feel?"

She shivered. "Like before. The light faded and it felt like I was being towed away," she straightened suddenly. "But _you_ stopped it. I didn't _go_ anywhere."

"No," he agreed.

"This is important," she insisted, crossing over to the desk chair and picking up her jacket to pull loose the old pencil and the crumpled piece of parchment. "Do you have any more paper I can borrow? I need to get this all down."

Severus leafed through the papers on his desk until he unearthed the Muggle notepad he had bought at the beginning of the summer. He was careful to remove the pages he had already written on, before handing it over. Emma sat at the desk and began scribbling furiously. After a few minutes, Severus sat on his blankets on the floor and stared at the pages he had removed from the notebook. It was his potion's notes. He had hardly looked at them since Emma had arrived.

He folded them carefully and tucked them under his pillow. While it didn't bother him just how much she had upset the careful order of his life, he found the fact he _wasn't bothered_ ever so slightly disturbing. Her previous disappearance had cautioned him not to get too attached to her. Perhaps taking her to the woods had been a mistake.

Emma muttered quietly to herself as she scribbled but for the most part she simply chewed on her bottom lip and stared at the paper. "It's no good," she sighed after a while. "I'm too tired for this to make any sense. You were right; this can wait until tomorrow."

She stood up, yawning widely, and pushed the chair back under the desk. He watched her slyly through his hair as she crossed the room, apparently too tired to remember she was still dressed in just a shirt. It felt wrong to watch her like this but he wasn't about to stop; it was her fault he was on the floor, after all.

When she began to flicker again he dived forward, but his position on the floor meant he didn't have the momentum to carry him to her. Instead he was forced to watch in horror as she flickered out of existence before him once more.

-x-

The heavy darkness had returned, pressing down on her uncomfortably. She felt a rushing, spinning sensation, like being caught in freak wave, being tumbled under water.

She could feel herself spinning, falling, fading.

And then it stopped.

The darkness receded slightly, but to Emma's dismay, she found that she was still stood in the gloom. She blinked furiously in an attempt to clear her vision, but unlike her dizziness, the darkness wouldn't shift. She held herself still, waiting for her eyes to adjust and for the darkness to form into shapes, feeling the ice cold stone floor underneath her bare feet.

Where was she? And what, for that matter, had happened?

How would she get back?

As her eyes began to adjust, she found she was stood between two towering, dark shapes. They were tall, perhaps six foot high and at least six foot long. Peering out into the shadows she saw there were others in the room, maybe six or seven altogether, although it was hard to tell in the darkness.

_Four-poster beds_, she realised, letting go a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Beds with their curtains pulled drawn tight against the night.

She was in a dormitory. _Hogwarts,_ _perhaps_? she wondered as she shifted uncomfortably.

Judging by the darkness, it was late at night and she was alone, dressed in just an oversized blue shirt and her underwear. Even if she was in Hogwarts, there was no way she wanted to be discovered like this. If it were somewhere else that used dormitories, maybe somewhere outside of the wizarding world, then she could be in real trouble. Without her jacket, she had no money, and her wand was still sitting on the desk in Severus' bedroom.

_You mustn't panic_, she told herself firmly. _You must think this through._ But what good was that when she couldn't see? When her wand was so very far away?

Her breathing began to hitch, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold herself together. She was in really big trouble. She was lost, miles away from her only friend, and the cold floor was beginning to make her feet and legs ache painfully.

Shifting her weight onto one leg, she raised the other off the floor slightly, hoping that warmth might return. She stumbled slightly, catching herself before she knocked the curtain beside her. As she straightened, a strange buzzing seemed to fill her ears. She shook her head, but, like the darkness, it refused to shift.

Terrified, half blind and half deaf, she staggered again, her hand reaching towards the velvet canopy to steady herself. Before she could reach it, she felt the heavy magic return to press upon her as she was swallowed once more by blackness.

-x-

When the dimness receded she found a distraught-looking Severus waiting to catch her. She stumbled forward into his awkward embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck. She knew the strength of her grip must be uncomfortable to him, but he submitted quietly to her tears and her clinging, his own arms wrapped loosely around her as if unsure how to hold her.

"Don't let me go," she begged. "Please, Severus, don't let go of me!" She could feel hysteria beginning to bubble up inside her until his arms tightened around her and she felt herself being pressed tightly against him in return.

"It's okay," he told her, his voice uncertain, as if reassurances where not something he was usually required to give. "I won't let you go."

-x-

Emma had managed to magically extend the bed by four whole extra inches without it becoming obvious, but Severus was far from comfortable. It wasn't as if she snored or talked in her sleep. but she may as well have done, for all the rest he was likely to get. The quiet sound of her breathing and the weight of her hand in his were strange and unsettling, as was the proximity of her limbs to his. He had been sharing quarters since he was eleven. He couldn't think of a single time when he had ever shared a bed, even as a small child.

It was a warm night, the air close and uncomfortable, and what little breeze made it through the open window was too heavy and sluggish to help much. Instead it simply carried with it the smell of the canal and the sounds of the cats in the alley outside.

Even without all these factors keeping him awake, Severus doubted he would have found it easy to sleep. Too much had happened. From Emma's startling and somewhat unlikely reappearance and their conversation with Ollivander to her bizarre flickering that evening.

Her description had been confused, her voice choked with fear and exhaustion, but he had understood enough to gather that this time she had moved through space, rather than just time. It had been night-time in the room she had described, but there was nothing to say it had been the same night as this. Her description of cold could well suggest it had been winter or perhaps somewhere far to the north. There was certainly nothing cold about the weather Britain was currently experiencing; some areas were already reporting droughts.

He stretched as quietly and gently as he could, attempting to ease the muscles in his neck and back. He would have loved to have shifted position completely and curled onto his side but he had promised Emma that he would not let go of her.

He had assumed that the journey she had made to his family's doorstep had been the first she had made. It definitely was the point where her memories began from. The second, when she had vanished so suddenly for two days, had also delivered her to his house. The third had carried her somewhere else entirely. The theory that somehow his family had been targeted by whatever magic she was caught in seemed void now. She was simply skittering about through time.

It was oddly deflating to realise her appearance and this strange, intense friendship were all just a bizarre coincidence.

Outside, one of the cats began to yowl aggressively. Another voice joined it, and soon the two were fighting in earnest.

Severus stared into the darkness, surrendering any thoughts of sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

><p>In the face of tears – and the very real threat of Emma disappearing again – Severus hadn't given much thought to the reality of waking up with a girl in his bed.<p>

Not that Emma could really be called a girl. Despite her small stature and the fact she was horribly lost and reliant on his help, there was little doubt that she was a capable, determined young woman. And none of these points changed the fact that he was currently lying trapped in her arms. Rather strong arms, he belatedly realised, that were currently preventing him from having any real success in shifting his rather blatant morning erection away from her thigh.

He twisted his hips slightly as he attempted to remove her arm without waking her. She moaned slightly and pulled him closer. He suspected there had been words somewhere in that moan, but the sound of it, together with the increased friction to his skin, pushed all sentient thought from his mind.

Still mostly asleep, and apparently oblivious to the affect she was having on him, Emma wriggled closer still and pressed her face into his neck and sighed. Somehow her warm breath made him shiver.

He shoved her roughly away and clambered out of the bed. Snatching up his dressing gown, he headed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

-x-

Emma half-filled the bath tub before pulling off her clothes and stepping in, washing herself as quickly as humanly possible, her wand tucked firmly behind her ear. Cleansing spells were all well and good in an emergency, but she was desperate to feel properly clean. Sharing the tiny bed last night had been sticky and uncomfortable, and she was certain she had probably looked frightful. Severus had certainly wasted no time in escaping that morning, waking her as he pushed her aside.

She couldn't blame him, really. It had been very kind of him to let her stay with him, like a frightened little child, but he had already put up with a lot from her. She had only known him for a tiny amount of time yet already she had cried on him, railed at him, and forced him to hug her when she was feeling down, despite the fact he was clearly uncomfortable with that kind of thing. Considering it objectively like that, she found her behaviour a little surprising. Perhaps she _was_ a volatile, touchy-feely sort of person. She rather hoped not, but there was little explanation for the way she had acted otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her wand carefully on the side of the bath before lying back to wet her hair. Sitting up again, she grabbed Mrs Snape's shampoo and squeezed a tiny amount onto her palm before working it into her scalp, her eyes fixed on her wand. If she was going to disappear off to some unknown, cold place whilst naked, she was damn sure she was going to take her wand with her.

Had the Snapes possessed a shower curtain she was pretty certain she would have asked Severus to sit in the bathroom while she washed. As it was, they didn't have a shower, but she still had been tempted to ask him to stay with her. Mortifying as it would have been to be naked in the same room as a teenage boy, she was certain she would have preferred it to the immanent danger of being dragged away by some hideous, unknown magic while she washed. She lay back, rinsing her hair frantically before sitting up and grabbing her wand. Satisfied that she wasn't about to vanish, she flicked the vinewood, banishing the soapy suds from the water before reaching for the conditioner.

She finished her ablutions in record speed, drying herself hastily with her wand before pulling on her clothes. She didn't relax until her shoes were firmly on her feet and her jacket tied once more around her waist.

Glancing in the mirror, she decided to let her hair dry naturally; using her wand would only make it frizz, and she doubted Mrs Snape had any leave-in conditioner or serum lying around. Her shampoo and conditioner, though gratefully pilfered, hadn't exactly been salon quality.

Grimacing, Emma ran her fingers through her curls, working out the tangles, hoping that she might have a hair band somewhere in her pockets.

-x-

Severus kept his eyes on the grill as the bread toasted, refusing to look up as Emma entered the kitchen and sat at the little table, watching him make breakfast. Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and he was uncomfortable and on edge. Last night he had barely slept, his mind whirring over the reasons for Emma's presence in his life.

When she had just been some Muggle girl his father knew, it had been easy to hate her. The discovery that she was a witch had made her intriguing, but had also made her more of a danger to his family. The thought that she might have been caught in some sort of time spell was something else all together.

He had resolved last night to find out all he could about time-related magic. Emma's knowledge about Time-Turners had put him to shame; it was one area of magic he had honestly never paid any attention to, deeming it about as worthy of study as Divination. Yes, it was possible; yes, it occasionally had a place in the world; but it had never touched upon his own life before now.

Pulling the grill pan from under the gas, he turned the toast over, then set about making the tea, deciding that a full pot was called for. He had come to a decision last night, and he wasn't certain how Emma was going to take it. Rescuing the toast just in time, he dropped the pieces on a plate and carried them to the table along with the butter and the marmalade.

Finally permitting himself to look at Emma, he felt the heavy guilt in his belly begin to grow. Her hair was damp, and she looked as if she had climbed into her clothes before properly dry, but despite being slightly dishevelled, she was smiling happily as she poured the tea.

"I take it from your expression that you didn't disappear anywhere while in the bathroom?" he ventured, only half in jest.

"Don't even joke about it!" she cautioned him. "If I wasn't worried about the possible mental scarring it might have caused you, I would have made you come in with me," she informed him, casually buttering her toast. "As it was I'm not entirely sure it was worth it; I may just stick to cleansing spells from now on."

Severus chewed resolutely on his toast and decided not to comment.

When they had finished eating, he placed the plates in the sink and returned the kettle to the stove to refresh the teapot. Emma sat quietly, apparently aware that the time had come to be serious.

He sat back down, his eyes focussed on her wand where it rested on the table. That wand was quite possibly the best clue they had to her identity, or at least how she had come to be there. If the magic she was caught in was her own, there was a good chance that some residue of the spell clung to it. There had to be a way to check the previous spells cast by a wand. Headmaster Dumbledore had implied that he could always check to see who had cast first whenever he had been caught in a duel – if the word "duel" could be used when more than two combatants were present; the word "ambush" would probably be more appropriate – but had never actually carried through with the threat, probably worried what he might find out about his beloved, brave Gryffindors.

The Ministry Aurors would have the power to check for previous spells, too, a fact that he raised now, his eyes still on her wand.

-x-

Emma listened to each carefully worded argument for turning to the Ministry, Hogwarts, or St Mungo's for aid, mutely. He certainly had thought things through very thoroughly indeed. He was shifting guiltily, as he spoke and Emma realised that the time she had dreaded most had arrived. He was going to wash his hands of her.

Oh, he phrased it differently. It was still "We can try this; we can speak to so-and-so," but the meaning was unchanged. And she couldn't blame him, not really. There was no reason in the world for him to still be helping her after all he had done already. Her attachment to him was unlikely to be reciprocated. He had a life outside of her. He had a family and school and friends, and she was guilty of taking him away from all that.

But he was all she had.

Her throat suddenly felt too tight. She sipped at her tea, hoping to shift the sudden, aching lump that filled it, but with little success.

"I honestly don't know enough about the Ministry to predict how they would react," he was saying. "I get the idea from the _Daily Prophet_ that they're a little jumpy. It might be an idea to try elsewhere first.

"I've thought about this very hard, Emma, and this still seems like the best solution is to go to Dumbledore. I'm sorry, but that's all I've got."

And there it was. Apparently he had noted her previous reaction to Dumbledore and had been as struck by it as she had. Doubtless, whatever her original memories of the venerable wizard were, they must be strong indeed to have forced their way through the general fug of her recollections.

She considered his idea carefully. She still had no understanding of her automatic reaction to a wizard she had never met. Now that she had reason to, she found herself examining her feelings more closely. The idea of meeting Dumbledore did not scare her, as such. She just found the whole idea oddly distasteful.

It was certainly past time to seek professional aid. Staying with Severus, attempting to fix everything herself, had just seemed natural to her. Seeking help from outside seemed oddly akin to giving in. Her current situation seemed like some horribly complex puzzle, but she couldn't help but feel she had all the pieces in front of her. Asking someone else to solve it seemed wrong.

She had nothing to go on except the strange feeling in her gut. As this had always previously prompted her to trust her sullen companion, she decided that his advice, in this instant, was probably as sound as ever. After all, he, not she, was a native in this world.

They would go to Hogwarts.

-x-

Part of her was incredibly excited about heading to the hallowed grounds of British wizarding education. She had been so familiar with its written history that she was certain an actual visit would bring a whole slew of memories to the surface. Diagon Alley had been both familiar and completely foreign; would the school be the same? And the teachers, would she recognise any of them? Or, most importantly, would any of them know her?

She had pondered the question of Hogwarts since she had first opened Severus' battered copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. If she had been to the school previously, it must have been as a student; very few people were granted access without having enrolled. Given her age she must have been Sorted and taken both her O.W.L.s and her N.E.W.T.s. It was bizarre to think that somewhere Emma Jones – for want of a better name – had watched Quidditch matches and possibly joined the Gobstones Team.

She had doubtless been a Hufflepuff, all unwavering loyalty and relentless effort, she mused. She was too frightened and cowardly to have been a Gryffindor, and no Ravenclaw would have got themselves caught up in some unknown memory displacement spell without very thorough research. It only took one swift glance at her slightly crumpled jeans and Muggle top to know that Slytherin would never have taken her. She had previously compared the way she trailed after Severus to be very like an adoring puppy. Could one make badger eyes at a boy? She might just try.

She shook her head, a smile still playing on her lips. It was time; they had prevaricated too long already.

She would confront Albus Dumbledore.

-x-

They retrieved the cloaks. They were only slightly worse for wear for their night underneath the patchy shrub, and Emma quickly smoothed away the creases with her wand. Severus ducked beneath the bridge to make sure no one was approaching from the other side who could be startled by the sound of their Disapparition. There were a gang of boys with bikes, probably about ten years old, where the canal began its gentle bend some way away. They were playing loudly, and he doubted they would even notice the noise.

He ducked back under the bridge to fasten his cloak around his shoulders and gestured the Emma that it was safe for her to do likewise.

It was only then he realised she had begun to flicker.

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><p><em>To see the amazing art created for this story by <strong>borgprincess<strong> and **SnapeHeir**, please follow the links on my profile page._


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review - your comments are more helpful and inspiring than you can know._

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

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><p>After a week of waiting, it became obvious that Emma was not going to return this time.<p>

Severus had waited at home every day, lying on his subtly transfigured bed, staring at the ceiling. He wondered where Emma was, whether she was home already or if she was headed to some uncertain part of the future. Part of him – a voice he never liked to listen to – recalled her offhand comment that wizards who attempted to travel forwards in time had a tendency simply to cease to exist.

It didn't bear thinking about.

The worst part, just like last time, was that no one knew she had vanished. Neither of his parents knew that she had returned, and he was not planning on telling them. His father still didn't know the girl they had taken in off the street had been a witch. It wouldn't do for him to find out. His mother's reaction to Emma, and her increasing distance from her own magic, discouraged him for discussing anything magical with her. Lily hadn't contacted him after Potter's swaggering display in her front garden, and he had no close friends at school with whom he could discuss anything like this.

Her absence was everywhere.

The chair in the kitchen where she had sat to share tea and toast with him; his bookcase that she had rummaged through as she had examined each book in detail; even his own bed. Worst of all, when he finally stopped waiting for her and headed out down the towpath towards the woods, he realised that she was haunting the little clearing by the stream, too. Even Lily hadn't taken so much of his life with her when she left. Yet Emma had not meant one fraction of what Lily had to him. She didn't warrant this terrible loneliness, this terrible unease, yet she was constantly in his thoughts.

He hid the old blue shirt she had worn in the bottom of his chest of drawers, he stopped having marmalade on his toast, and, when he walked along the towpath, he simply walked in the other direction towards the locks that climbed the hill. He took his books downstairs, to read in the front room instead of at his old desk. He wrote his notes at the kitchen table. It threw him into daily contact with his parents, but even that was better that the emptiness that waited for him upstairs.

Eventually his normal nature reasserted itself. Emma had been a brief, pleasant interlude to what would have otherwise been a dull and dismal summer. That she was gone was sad, but it was not the end of the world. He had coped when Lily had removed herself from his sphere, and he would cope without Emma. He didn't even know her real name; it was pointless imagining that their sudden friendship had been anything more profound than a lost girl and a lonely boy finding temporary solace in one another's company.

He would survive this as he had survived all else.

He took his books back upstairs and tidied his desk. As he reordered his hastily scribbled notes at his desk, a small, creased piece of parchment drifted free.

It was one of Emma's innumerable lists, the first one she had scribbled down with his old, chewed pencil. The pencil that he now kept in his pocket.

He glanced down at the neat columns.

Facts:

I am a witch – have a wand, can remember many spells.

Knew Tobias Snape's name even if I don't know him. He seems not to know me – could there be reason for him to lie?

Have read _Hogwarts: A History_ at least once before or am else wise familiar with Hogwarts history.

People:

Albus Dumbledore – I am aware of Dumbledore, may even have met him, but feel disinclined to turn to him (why?). Perhaps a last resort?

Lily Evans – prejudiced against me (Sev?). Too close to James Potter. Awful sister.

James Potter – felt something when I saw him but his face is somehow wrong (TS). Not comfortable around him.

Eileen and Tobias Snape – unlikely to be of further help. Initially very generous in taking me in before finding I was a witch (ask Sev for possible thank you gift ideas?)

Miscellaneous:

Muggle world – am familiar with it which would suggest Muggle-born, but seems oddly quaint. Money odd. Maybe half-blood or well-travelled?

In my favour:

Wand.

9 Galleons, 8 Sickles and 3 Knuts.

Severus Snape.

The fact that she had listed him amongst her assets should have irritated him, but for some reason he felt strangely . . . _not irritated_.

In my favour – Severus Snape.

It was rather nice.

Her use of the name Sev made him uncomfortable. Hopefully she was just using shorthand; he had hated that awful nickname. His given name was one of the few truly wizarding things about him, named for a distant uncle who had been a favourite with his mother. Only Lily had been able to call him Sev without making him want to cringe.

He allowed himself one small moment of wistfulness before carefully folding the parchment and placing it in his pocket next to the pencil.

Although Emma was gone from his life, he owed it to her to try and help her in any way he could. He left his desk half tidied and crossed to the wardrobe, searching amid the old shoes at the bottom until he found the battered shoebox that contained what few possessions he had bothered to keep from before he started Hogwarts.

There, somewhere near the bottom, was his old Muggle library card.

-x-

Emma Jones had been a secret for almost as long as he had known her. Neither of his parents had mentioned her since the day he had led her to the bus stop on the high street. He was even careful not to think her name too clearly ever since she had disappeared the second time; although he had come to terms with the fact she wouldn't suddenly reappear it still had the power to hurt him, ever so slightly.

As such, it felt almost like a punch to the chest when his father casually dropped her name into the conversation.

"Did that Emma girl say she'd lost a bag?"

It was the first time either of his parents had mentioned Emma since that teatime nearly a fortnight ago; his father's sudden use of her name made him start. Severus kept his eyes on his book with a supreme effort and carefully controlled the level of interest that showed in his voice.

"I don't think so," he answered just as casually. "Why?"

Tobias Snape lifted a pink beaded bag in his gloved hand. His wife had finally prevailed upon him to clear the weeds away from the front door. "Found this outside, reckon it might be hers."

Severus examined the bag as carefully as he could from his side of the table. It was a small evening bag with pretty beaded detail across the front side. It didn't look like anything Emma would own, but its discovery just inches from where she had been found was unlikely to just be a coincidence. She hadn't mentioned having lost a bag, but there was a good chance it had simply been lost along with the majority of her memories.

"I did think your mother might like it, but I can't get the stupid thing open."

Severus held out his hand and awkwardly caught the bag as his father tossed it across the table. It was slightly soiled and damp from spending the last couple of weeks buried in the gutter, but it was still clearly an expensive accessory. There was no obvious magical signature to it, but there was always the chance that it had belonged to Emma. Severus sighed. "I'll see if I can get into it. If not, I think we still have that Emma girl's details somewhere."

He tried not to flinch at his own words, but dismissing Emma so casually seemed almost blasphemous.

His father didn't even notice. "Maybe we'll get a reward. Though the skinflints didn't give us anything for looking after their own daughter."

Examining the bag in his room, Snape came to the conclusion that it could not be opened, at least not without magic. This was enough to convince him it had belonged to Emma. It was also enough to make him wonder if she would return for it.

He pushed the feeling of tentative hope aside.

Emma's sudden appearance and sudden disappearance were no longer important. That he had briefly been caught up in the maelstrom of her life was no longer important. He had spent so much time wondering from whence she had come and whither she was headed that his homework had sat neglected in the corner of him room.

He had things to do.


	12. Chapter 12

_With love and thanks to **heartmom88** and **ofankoma**, for all their help and support_

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>

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><p>The cold hit her before she had a chance to realise she was caught once more in the heavy, swirling darkness. Emma gripped her wand tightly and fought the urge to cast a silent Lumos. She had no idea who resided in the frigid chamber.<p>

After the bright sunshine of the canal path, it took her eyes a long time to adjust to the near total darkness of the room. Peering into the gloom, she realised she was correct in her assumption that she had returned to the dormitory with its tall, curtained beds.

She stood in absolute stillness, waiting for the pounding of her heart to slow, and her breathing to even out. The room wasn't as cold as she remembered, but it still felt chilly after the warm summer sun she had just left behind. She carefully slipped Mrs Snape's cloak around her shoulders, doing her best to remain absolutely silent.

A sudden noise made her start, her wand flying upwards as she fell into a defensive stance almost automatically. The noise repeated itself, and she let out a long breath when she realised it was simply the sound of someone turning in their sleep.

As she stared in dismay into the darkness, her head filled with the familiar buzzing noise, her hearing muffled as if she had water trapped in her ears. She shook her head quickly, but the sound refused to leave. It was an annoying, high pitched noise, like tinnitus or the feeling of the temporary deafness caused by exposure to loud noise. Leaning to the right the sensation receded.

As her eyes adjusted to the peculiar gloom, she was able to make out the she stood next to the bed furthest from the door, one curtained side pushed completely against the wall. She turned to fully face the bed, noticing how the buzzing sound increased as she moved forwards.

_Muffilato_.

She refused to ponder over the convenient memory of the spell, or the nagging thought that it was perhaps not a good spell for someone to know, and stepped towards the bed.

She reached out with trembling fingers. They brushed the heavy folds of the velvet curtains before the darkness descended once more.

-x-

It was daylight again when she landed, sprawled inelegantly on the bumpy cobbles. Her relief, however, was short-lived.

She was not on the canal path.

And it was snowing.

She had been so certain that the horrid, spinning darkness had been about to carry her back to Severus and the warm sunshine that she had embraced it gratefully. Now it appeared it had taken her somewhere else entirely.

She climbed unsteadily to her feet, pulling the cloak tightly around her shoulders and lifting the musty smelling hood to cover her hair before looking around in interest.

There was no one else on the street, probably because of the biting wind that was eddying the light snowfall round and around as it drifted towards the ground. Many of the houses had their lights on already, but in the failing winter light, she had no real idea what the time was. With the dark clouds overhead, it could just be early afternoon.

Huddling back against the wall, desperate to get out of the cruel wind, she wondered what on earth she should do. Was she simply going to keep jumping from place to place like this or had some unknown magic just abandoned her on a wintry back street? Either eventuality called for a plan.

At least she had her memories this time. Or rather, the memories of the last few days. She still had her fake name, and she at least knew enough to ask for directions to the Snapes' dusty terrace. She should find a shop if any were open. Failing that, she should find a nice-looking house and knock on the door, explain that she was lost, and ask for direction back to Spinner's End.

She ignored the tiny voice that sounded suspiciously like Mr Ollivander. The voice that questioned if she was even in the same world as before.

Digging her cold fingers deep into her pockets, she pushed back off the wall and out into the growing blizzard, her head lowered against the wind. She had always hated the cold, hated the sting of snow and wind against her forehead. If she didn't get inside soon, she was going to have a monstrous headache to deal with. Had she not been on a Muggle street, she might have attempted a Warming Charm, but in this wind, it would have dissipated before it had a chance to be effective. Getting indoors was still her best plan.

A sudden hope bloomed in her chest when she began to recognise a couple of the buildings that came into view when she turned a corner onto a wider street. She was certain they had passed this way on their failed visit to the Evanses' house. If she could find the main road, she stood a good chance of being able to find her own way back to Severus. The high street wasn't far from here, either, with its wonderful fish and chip shop. Although she lacked Muggle money, she could stand inside and get warm while she asked for directions.

The wind was stronger here, whipping her cloak around her and whistling passed her ears, but the snow seemed to be clearing. She lowered the hood and stared around her, trying to remember which way they had gone from here.

There was another sound now, barely registering above the noise of the wind – a high, thin sound, like a cry or a wail. Listening more closely, Emma heard it again and was certain that it was someone crying. Glancing around, she could see no on else on the road. The whole town had seemed deserted so far.

Yet there was the noise again. A forlorn little sound; Emma was certain whoever was making it was just as lost and frightened as she was, if not more so. Listening intently, she realised it sounded like a child, but the constant whipping of the wind confused the sound, and she had no idea from which direction it was coming.

She was near a rather unwelcoming looking social club, a squat block of dirty brick with small windows and an imposing front door. She briefly considered heading inside, despite the rather forbidding appearance of the Dagworth Miller's Association (Members Only), when she heard the sound again.

There was a tiny car park next to the club, and beyond that, a small field with a lopsided goal post at the far end and a long untidy hedge running down the side. With all the wind, the noise could have been coming from just beside her or being carried from the far end of the field.

Her feet had carried her off the footpath and onto the frozen mud of the field before she reached a conscious decision. There was no way she could not try to help. She had no idea, after all, what would have happened to her had Severus' family not taken her in when they found her half collapsed in the street. Would another family have taken her in? A Muggle family, perhaps, who would have taken her to hospital the moment her amnesia presented itself. A family who would not have understood the importance of the ornate stick of wood in her jacket pocket, or had the first idea how to help her.

Worse, Spinners End wasn't a particularly busy street. There was the chance she could have laid there for hours before someone had found her. At that had been a dry summer's evening, not a bleak winter's day.

She couldn't let that happen to anyone.

She hurried across the scrubby field, the wind tossing her hair around until at times she could barely see through the tangles. The ground underfoot was iron hard, the uneven mud frozen into peaks and troughs. She slipped on a frozen puddle, twisting her ankle as she righted herself.

Hissing quietly, she flexed her ankle carefully, relieved when the sudden pain receded just as quickly. It would have been beyond bad luck to find herself stranded in this snowy place and hobbled to boot. Picking her way with more care, she started to cross the field again, her eyes fixed on the rough ground, her ears pricked for any further sound.

When she began to fall again, she instinctively threw her arms out to steady herself. It was only when her eyesight began to cloud that she realised that this time, the sensation had nothing to do with the icy ground.

-x-

Emma closed her eyes as she felt the spell grab at her. She sent a silent prayer to whatever saint looked over the lost – Jude? Or was that the patron saint of lost causes? Perhaps Christopher would be willing to help her – that she would find herself once more in the bright sunshine by the canal. She wouldn't care if she had lost a day this time, or even a week. She just wanted to get back to Severus and little space by his side, the only place in this strange, shifting madness where she felt as if she might just belong.

She longed to feel the sunshine on her face and smell the rather overpowering scent of canal water and ducks, and know that she had returned. It was such an intense longing that it was almost painful, like the worst, most desperate homesickness.

She surrendered herself gladly to the darkness, throwing herself into the magic as it spun her round and around.

-x-

She landed in darkness.

Cold, familiar darkness.

Even before her eyes adjusted to the gloom she became aware of the background buzz of Muffalato. She turned instinctively towards the source of the spell and reached forward, flinching slightly as her fingers brushed against the heavy velvet of the bed curtains. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes.

No doubt – _no doubt_ – there was a reason why she kept returning to this spot, to this dark, cold corner of what she could only hope was Hogwarts castle. And – no doubt – she would continue to return here until she had worked out why.

"Sod this," she murmured quietly to herself, as she gripped the curtain. The buzzing abruptly ceased as she grasped a fistful of velvet and pulled it to one side.

The Stinging Hex was followed so swiftly by a Silencing Spell that no one heard her cry of pain.


	13. Chapter 13

_Thanks, as always, to **heartmom88** and **ofankoma** for all their help, and to everyone who has taken the time to read, review or favourite this story._

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>

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><p>Emma found herself dragged inside the heavy canopy of the bed, long fingers digging cruelly into her wrist. She sprawled across the bed covers, aware of a wand being held only inches from her face, her own wand caught underneath her where she lay.<p>

Effectively disarmed, her heart hammering in her chest, she squinted up into the wandlight at the tear-stained face above her.

Unthinking, she scrambled up onto her knees and threw her arms around the devastated boy.

"Oh, Severus," she murmured, her face buried against his neck. "Whatever's happened?"

The wandlight faded then as his arms came up to encircle her, pulling her tightly against his chest. She ignored the pain in her hand where the Stinging Hex had caught her, ignored the discomfort of her being held at such an awkward angle and just held him tightly, feeling the dampness of his tears on her cheek.

Eventually he pushed her aside and scrubbed at his face furiously with the sleeve of his pyjamas. Emma looked away, realising she had probably chosen the worst time to simply appear at his bedside. No one, especially someone as private and prickly as Severus, wanted to be caught crying themselves to sleep. She studiously placed fresh wards around the bed to allow them to talk unheard. A further charm meant that the wandlight she conjured couldn't be seen from outside. She healed her hand as well as she could without a salve, then added several warming charms for good measure.

"You're all wet," Severus informed her peevishly, his face hidden by his long hair.

"I've been out in the snow," she informed him, unclasping the cloak and drying the soggy wool with her wand. "I'm absolutely frozen."

"Snow? Now?"

"I don't know when it was," she shrugged. "Though I'm pretty sure it wasn't that far away from your house, but I was a bit lost. I was by a playing field between a social club and a row of tiny little cottages."

"That's Spinner's Rec," he informed her helpfully. Emma could tell he was grateful she was ignoring the elephant in the room. "I used to hide in the bushes running down the side whenever we went for a walk," he added. "If you cut across it you'll find a path that leads to the canal. Turn left and you'll end up near the house."

"Right," she replied as she kicked off her shoes, lowering them carefully to the floor so that they would still be hidden by the heavy curtain. Her recent experiences had left her uneasy at the thought of removing any of her outer clothes, especially is she might be whirled back into the snow. She ran a hand through her hopelessly wind-tangled hair and snagged a single strand, lengthening and strengthening it until it served to bind her shoes and cloak to her wrist

Feeling more secure – and a little irritated with herself for not having considered such a charm earlier – she glanced round for a topic of conversation to distract from the real question she wanted to ask him. Severus had pulled the covers up almost to his chin and was staring in the vague directions of her knees.

"How are your parents?" she ventured at last.

"Fine," he answered. "I've not really heard from them since term started."

"How about Lily? Is she talking to you yet?"

"Not really. On the plus side, she's not talking to Potter, either. It seems he may have shot him self in the foot by pulling his wand out in her front garden."

Emma giggled. "We girls are never as impressed by that sort of stuff as you might imagine."

"Strange creatures," he agreed.

Silence descended again, and Emma began to wonder just how much time had passed for him this time. If he was back at school, it had to be at least September, and judging by the temperature, it was probably much later still. She could have been gone for months, only to turn up unannounced at his bedside. No wonder the easy interaction between them had – at least on his side – become stilted.

He had grown older while she had stayed the same. It made perfect sense that they would grow apart, that what had linked them over the summer should begin to fade. Fade for him; for her it was an abrupt, heart-rending occurrence. That he might outgrow her. . .

Somehow that thought was worse than the thought she might never get home. Home was just an abstract idea at the moment, just an ideal she was aiming for. With no memories, there was nothing and no one that called her back. But Severus was _real_. She had already realised her dependence on him and her attachment to him were quite probably unhealthy but the thought that she had somehow lost him already felt like a physical blow.

Watching him now, his puffy eyes seeming over large in his angular face, refusing to meet her gaze, she felt her own eyes begin to fill. She sniffed determinedly and sought a way – any way – to undo the damage her absence must have caused.

"I missed you," her tongue tripped over the words. They seemed ridiculously inadequate, especially when his face became stony.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he ground out.

She gave a little laugh, though even to her ears it sounded more like a sob. "Me neither," she admitted. "Yet this is the third time I've been here," she gestured to the room beyond his curtains. "_This_ is the cold dormitory. Had I known you'd be here I would have—" he had looked up at her, a speculative expression on his face and she let her sentence hang unfinished between them.

"Did you ever see yourself? See the other times that you were here?"

After refusing to meet her eyes, this sudden attention her to falter. Luckily, Severus didn't wait for her to gather her suddenly scattered thoughts before continuing on, his voice pitched low.

"Everything I've read states that you must never let your past selves see you," he informed her gravely. "The magical books didn't explain why, but the Muggle theory is that you can't exist twice in the same place. That if you were to touch your former self you could destroy yourselves. And quite possibly the whole universe." Emma failed to wipe the rather wet smile off her face before he saw it. "What?"

"You've been researching time travel?" She marvelled.

He shifted against the pillows. "Of course. It seemed sensible."

"Even though you didn't think you'd see me again?"

"I thought it might be a possibility. And I was right."

Finally controlling her features, she simply nodded. "The Muggle theory isn't completely correct, at least not for those who possess magic. No one knows what would happen to Muggles who managed to travel through time. It might not even be possible without magic." It was odd indeed, she mused, that she could be so sure of her answer even when she had no recollection of _how_ she knew the answer. "Wizards who have confronted older versions of themselves usually _do_ end up dying rather nastily. Mostly they kill their other self."

"How do you know that?" Of course, he would be wondering that, too. She had already commented on the quickness of his thoughts. She could only offer speculation in answer.

"I seem to have retained a lot of my magical knowledge. It's people and places that are foreign to me. Maybe it's all stored in a separate part of the brain. I didn't lose my ability to speak," she reasoned. "Maybe it's the same."

He considered her answer, before nodding brusquely and continuing their previous conversation. "Muggle books also mention causality. I suppose you know what that means too?"

She nodded. "Wizards don't tend to mention it, as Time-Turner travel is so limited. There is only so much you can change, after all. For Muggles it's entirely theoretical, so their questions are limitless. If I am from the future, there is a good chance I could have changed something irrevocably," she shrugged, hoping he hadn't noticed if her unsteady voice gave lie to her unworried attitude. "I've considered all of this to a degree. The grandfather paradox; I may have destroyed any chance of ever making my way back home the moment I spoke to you, or your mother, or Lily. But without knowing where I'm from, it seems a bit early to speculate."

Of course, that hadn't stopped her. Ever since the idea of her having come from a different time had been asked, it seemed her wretched inner monologue wouldn't shut up about all the various ways in which she might be shredding her own timeline, not to mention the harm she could have already caused Severus. She had stalwartly ignored the knowing voice, but these last few hours, falling randomly through time, had made the questions seem all the more pertinent. Severus was still watching her closely, and she was afraid his quick mind had come to the same conclusion.

When he spoke again, his words took her by surprise. "I may have something of yours."

Had it not been so welcome, the abrupt change in topic would doubtless have irritated her. Now she was happy to watch as he twisted to examine one of his bed posts, his wand moving deftly as he began to remove several layers of warding and some rather nasty looking hexes. She watched him curiously, wondering once more about the tearful state she had found him in. Her concern was distracted as he leaned to retrieve whatever it was he had uncovered, and she was amused to see what she had taken for a pyjama top did not seem to end at his waist.

"Severus, are you wearing a nightshirt?" she asked in disbelief.

"All the Slytherins do," he replied defensively, straightening and pulling the covers back up over his chest. "Pure-bloods don't believe in pyjamas," he added wryly.

That was interesting. "So this is the Slytherin dormitory is it?" Yet Severus had a Muggle father. There also the more immediate question: "Will having a girl in your bed not have set off any alarms?"

He looked suddenly anxious. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Well, I don't suppose it matters if it has. We agreed I needed to meet Dumbledore eventually, even if this wouldn't make quite the first impression I'd been hoping for." His smile vanished and his face darkened again. "What is it?"she pressed. He didn't reply, but his face had taken on that cold, stony expression again.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Emma asked softly.

"I can't," he shrugged. "I promised not to."

"If you can't talk to me is it something you can talk to a teacher about?"

He snorted, his face bitter. "Dumbledore's the one who made me promise."

Careful conversation suddenly didn't seem so important any more.

"Budge over," she ordered, scrambling up the bed until she was sat beside him propped up against the pillows. Without waiting for an invitation, she wriggled her toes underneath the blankets, elbowing him pointedly until he moved enough for her to burrow down beside him. The bed was narrow, but she managed to squeeze in beside him, lying on her side. She let her head rest on his shoulder and looped both her arms around his as it rested on the counterpane. He made no move to resist her.

He still smelt the same.

For the longest time he didn't speak. He stared ahead, his face carefully blank, his long fingers playing with the thing he had retrieved from behind the headboard. It looked to be a woman's evening bag. It didn't seem in the least bit familiar, and she wondered why he thought it might belong to her and where he had found it. She was tempted to ask, but she didn't really wish to interrupt whatever was going on in his head, knowing him well enough to understand that he would take the opportunity to distract her away from whatever it was that had upset him.

So she lay quietly, watching him as he fiddled with the fussy bead work, until eventually he spoke.

"It was full moon last night."

She frowned. Obviously, he was taking his promise not to tell very seriously, but he seemed desperately unhappy. As such she reconsidered his apparent non sequitur.

"You got caught dancing with a Mooncalf?" she hazarded. He snorted, but something about his guarded expression told her to continue. "Full moon," she mused, wracking her brain for any related topics. Any arcane rituals? Anything on the Hogwarts syllabus that might cause someone this much distress? Lunar phases were mainly dealt with by Astrology and Herbology, but she could think of nothing dangerous in either. "You planted acanthus?" In desperation she added, "You met a werewolf?"

His fingers froze their idle play, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

"You saw a werewolf? In Hogwarts?" His eyes flicked briefly towards her in subtle confirmation. "But how?" He flinched then, and she understood he thought it was _him_ she was questioning. "I mean, I know they're supposed to live in the Forbidden Forest, but there are enchantments keeping them away from the school grounds."

He looked at her directly and slowly raised one eyebrow. She wondered briefly if you had to be a Slytherin to understand this strange form of silent conversation, before examining his meaning. The werewolf _hadn't_ broken through the enchantments. Therefore the werewolf must have come from _inside_ the castle grounds...

"Was it a teacher?" she asked quietly.

"What?" He sounded genuinely shocked by the question, and Emma suddenly realised it had been a strange thing to ask. "No, no it wasn't a _teacher_." Something about the emphasis he used answered the question.

"A _student_? Oh God, they let a werewolf into the school?" She was frankly astounded, before the more liberal part of her kicked in. "Well I suppose they have as much right to an education as anyone else. But to let one near other students at full moon?"

"I shouldn't have been anywhere near him. Someone tricked me, told me how to reach him." He still wasn't looking at her and his voice had become coldly distant. "I was curious. I should have known it would be a trap." She wondered then how much of the hate and blame she saw in his face was directed at himself.

"How could you possibly have known that someone was sending you to meet a werewolf? What did the Aurors say?"

He snorted. "They weren't informed. No one is to be informed. There werewolf must be allowed to finished his education."

"But the person who told you how to find him—"

"Has been given detention."

Emma sat opened-mouthed, unable to process what she was being told. It wasn't that she didn't believe him; his fear and devastation were too palpable for his story to be anything but the truth – but for the incident to be just covered up like that? It was horrific. She could feel real anger beginning to bubble up inside her, flooding her stomach like acid.

"I actually saw the transformation.," Severus continued, his eyes fixed on some distant point. "He was shaking, shaking like he might fly apart. At first I thought something was wrong with him, and I called out to him." He swallowed. "He looked right at me then as his face began to change. . ."

His voice trailed off, but Emma was suddenly caught up on the imagery his voice had conveyed. A bright, moonlit night, under the canopy of a large, tangle-rooted tree. A figure growing taller and longer as it hunched forward, its unblinking eyes yellowing with hate and hunger, while its hands twisted into claws.

She shivered despite the warming charms when a new image struck her. The same moon, the same beastly transformation, but this time a dark figure separated her from the dripping jaws of the monstrous man-wolf, his outstretched arms shielding her from harm.

She swallowed.

"Severus," she whispered to the traumatised boy beside her. "I think I may have remembered something."

-x-

It was a confused memory, little more than a series of disjointed images but it was the first concrete memory she had. This was the only thing that belong to her. And it was horrific. That she had been so close to death.

Hearing her whispered story seemed to make it easier for him to speak. He described being pulled out of the way at the last second and of spending the night in the headmaster's office while the culprits lay in the infirmary.

"Was anyone bitten?" The question had apparently been a mistake. Severus froze beside her then began to extricate his arm from her grip. "What? You said they were in the infirmary?"

He relaxed, and she realised her error. He had believed she was scared he might have been infected. "Do you think it would change things if you were a werewolf?" she demanded softly. "You could be married to a house-elf and practising the Dark Arts on weekends and you'd still be _my_ Severus." She tried to keep her tone brisk, but the tears she had been holding back finally began to run down her cheeks.

She wrapped her arms more tightly round him and buried her face against his arm. She heard him sniff, loudly and inelegantly.

"Look at the pair of us," she choked out a tiny unconvincing chuckle as she reached for the little bag he was still holding and unzipped it. Reaching in past her elbow, she rummaged through the oddments inside until she found the packet of paper tissues and offered one to her astounded companion.

"What?" she asked, before she blew her nose.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Warning!**__ Slight canon deviation ahead! We're in Severus' sixth year, not his fifth, as stated in the _Deathly Hallows_._

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><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>

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><p>Severus watched mutely as Emma pulled item after item from the narrow neck of the little beaded bag, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she struggled to reach the bottom corners. Already an odd selection of belongings covered the eiderdown: spare socks, maps, tissues, a packet of biscuits, and a slightly suspicious wad of parchment that seemed completely unused, despite its battered appearance. There was a fat little purse containing a modest amount of Sickles and Galleons, a few Muggle biros, a hairbrush with several elastics wrapped round the handle, and a pink bottle of something frightfully feminine and possibly to do with hair care. Emma had certainly been pleased to see it.<p>

"I said this was your bag," he murmured as she added an umbrella and a miniature first aid kit to the growing pile in front of them. "There was no magical signature though."

"It's an Undetectable Extension Charm," Emma informed him, immediately reverting to what he privately thought of as her _textbook voice_. "They're undetectable. And the charm of the zip was keyed to me. Probably _by_ me too,"

Her tone was considering, but as Severus watched, she became distracted, delving once more into the seemingly fathomless reaches of the bag. She had distracted herself from their conversation about time travel too. Which was _interesting_. Emma didn't strike him as the kind of person who would stray from a topic without first finding all the answers she had sought. How was it Ollivander had described her? _Relentless in the pursuit of truth. _The strange wizard's words had stuck with him, but now he was forced to consider them afresh. They didn't really apply to the Emma he had come to know.

She had been so very quick to accept his friendship, so very quick to accept his help. When he had questioned her appearing so close to the only family with an adult wizard for miles around, she had been interested, but had not bothered to follow the question any further. Later, when his touch had managed to prevent her from disappearing, she had recognised immediately that something important had happened, but had been unable to concentrate long enough even to add it to one of her ridiculous lists. And then she had vanished once more, distracting him too.

Looking back, it was easy to catalogue the numerous occasions when the simplest thing had distracted her or when she had shaken off the darkest moods with a toss of her curls and a smile. Ollivander had driven her to distraction, but after a quick glass of whiskey and a couple of sandwiches, she had calmed down enough to blithely discuss the fact she might have come from the future. That evening he had only needed to walk with her down the canal path until they reached the wood for her normal, breezy disposition to reassert itself. Tonight she had even dismissed the idea that she might have unknowingly changed the future to such a degree that she might never be able to return home, with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

It was as if nothing could affect her for long. It should have made her seem slightly two-dimensional, like a less than complete person. Instead it filled him with worry.

Fair enough, her presence had temporarily distracted _him_ from the events of the previous evening, but not completely, and certainly not to the point where he would dismiss the matter entirely. And it wasn't that he wasn't grateful for her now warm presence, pressed up against him, her elbow occasionally jostling him as she continued to unpack. Yet there had to be a reason _why_ she was here.

She was still working a jumper from the bag when something fluttered loose. An envelope, caught in the folds of the wool. It was plain white and looked like something that you would find in any Muggle stationer's. He caught it before it could slide from the bed, turning it over in his hands as it handed it back to Emma.

The neat writing on the front read simply: _**Prof S**_.

They both stared at it in silence.

-x-

"Could it be for Professor Slughorn?" Severus suggested eventually.

"I don't know." Emma considered the name carefully: _Slughorn_. She felt no real reaction to it one way or the other. "I don't _think_ so."

"You should open it."

She looked up, faintly scandalised. "I can't do that. It isn't addressed to me."

"This is obviously your bag," he gestured to the items now spread across the bed. "And that even looks like your handwriting."

"How do you know what my handwriting looks like?" she enquired, delighted when one of those uncontrollable blushes stained his cheeks. Maybe he hadn't changed that much at all.

"You left one of your lists behind. I thought it might be helpful. Now open the letter."

She prodded the letter cautiously with her wand, casting a few basic detection spells to make sure there was nothing Dark or dangerous inside. If Severus found anything unusual in this, he gave no sign, simply waiting pointedly for her to open it. She slid her finger under the seal and carefully slid it open. Inside was a single folded sheet of parchment.

They both leaned forward, Severus bringing his wand closer so that the light shone directly on the page as Emma opened it, smoothing the creases flat. Tense, expectant silence filled the curtained space as their eyes travelled down the neat lines of careful script.

"What," demanded Emma, "is that meant to mean?"

"You tell me," came the reply. "You wrote it."

Emma sighed, glancing over the words again. She was reasonably certain that this was her handwriting, but she felt no glimmer of recognition whatsoever for the words written down. It seemed like a random list of ingredients. "Could it be a potion?" she suggested, unhelpfully.

"It looks like no one potion I've ever seen," Severus considered. "There are elements of about four or five different potions in here, but without instructions it could be anything. Maybe it's a shopping list."

Emma started to giggle. Once she began, she found it hard to stop, despite the look she was receiving. Eventually she calmed down enough to gasp out, "Are you suggesting I travelled across time and space to remind some Professor to restock the Potion's cupboard?"

Severus snorted and flicked the page from her grasp, studying it more closely. "These number's down the side. If they aren't quantities they might be Arithmantic properties."

"Let me see."

Now _this_ was interesting. If the numbers balanced, there was good chance that this was some sort of theoretical potions proposition. Uncapping one of the pens, Emma reached for the folded parchment to jot down the numbers.

To her infinite frustration, the pen didn't work. And nor did the next. It was only after Severus leant her a quill and ink that she realised that the parchment was actually _absorbing_ the ink the moment it hit the page. She prodded it carefully with her wand. There was obviously some sort of enchantment on it, but none of the less invasive diagnostic charms she cast revealed anything helpful. She was loathe to cast anything more aggressive for fear of sparking any protective jinxes. It was just one more thing that didn't make sense.

A wand that hadn't been sold yet, parchment that couldn't be written on, a letter addressed to a person she didn't know.

"Do you still have my list?" Perhaps itemising everything would help. It hadn't so far, but Emma was determined to remain optimistic.

Severus blushed again as he handed her the little piece of parchment she had left on his desk. Why became clear as she unfolded it, taking care not to tear the creases. It felt thinner than she remembered and the folds were worn thin as if it had been opened and refolded many, many times.

Severus hadn't just saved it, hadn't just read it; he'd read it almost to pieces.

If she had needed proof that he had missed her, then here it was. She scanned the list briefly, wondering just what he had found in it to warrant saving it.

In my favour, Severus Snape.

_Oh, Severus._

She blinked quickly, refusing to burst into tears again, focussing instead on jotting the numbers down. Trying to see if they would balance as part of an Arithmantic equation without knowing which chart to consult was tricky, but not impossible; determining what they might mean was another thing entirely. She scribbled furiously for a few minutes, occasionally scrubbing out her working as she adjusted the lines. It felt wonderful to be doing something academic, something that actually made sense, even if she didn't understand the equation itself. If she knew what the potion was intended for then the answer would be quite simple. Trying to work backwards meant she had no idea what properties were being calculated. Still, numbers were numbers. They made sense even if the answer didn't.

She was so focussed on her working that she didn't even notice the rising darkness until Severus grabbed her wrist, knocking ink all over the bed sheets.

He swore quietly before attempting to clean the mess with a rather sloppy Tergeo. Emma locked her fingers with those of his free hand and sighed. Much as she had known that she couldn't spend eternity hiding in Severus' bed, she had hoped that the spell might leave her alone for one whole night. Even overlooking the fact that she had no wish to be dumped in some unknown place or time with no way of getting back, there was still the fact Severus needed someone to talk to. Or the fact that she wanted to be that person.

Mostly she wanted to find out who was responsible for sending him to meet a werewolf and do all sorts of terrible things to them. Or at least write a very strongly worded letter to Headmaster Dumbledore. Honestly, who asked a school child to cover up such a thing? He had a duty of care to all his students, not just to the poor unfortunate infected with lycanthropy. It was disgraceful.

Then there was the fact she simply didn't want to leave him.

She sighed again and began carefully repacking the little bag. She read through the ingredients list one last time before placing it back in the envelope. It wouldn't do to lose it again before she had even worked out what it might mean.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question.

"I don't want to," she protested. "You know I'll only keep flickering until the spell takes me. I want to at least make sure I have everything this time."

He glared at her but didn't resist when she entwined her fingers back with his. "I'd take you with me if I could."

His glare became a look of such fierce, undisguised longing that Emma shivered. Tomorrow he was going to have to head to the Great Hall and attempt to eat breakfast under the benevolent gaze of a headmaster who had betrayed him. Somewhere else in that hall would be the pupil who had nearly sent him to his death. He was going to have to walk down the same corridors – maybe even share classes – with someone who had tried to kill him. He would have to see the werewolf, back in human form, and act as if nothing had happened.

She handed him back her original list.

"Will you look after this for me? I'd hate to lose it."

He glanced down at the scribbled workings. "The numbers balance," he noted glumly. "I'd suggest that it was a theoretical solution to a combination potion meant to have several effects at once."

Well, that was certainly useful. "Do you understand it?"

He shook his head. "We're going to brush on blended potions as part of out N.E.W.T.s. We've already looked at blended poisons and antidotes, but I don't think this kind of work would be approached 'til apprentice level."

"Maybe I should find a Potions Master. I don't suppose you're planning on further education are you?"

His face clouded again. "No. I'm not."

"But—" she began. Her mind flicked back to the potions books that had lined his narrow bookcase, all of them shabby and oft-read; the notes scribbled in the margins of his textbook; the theory-filled pages he had removed from his notebook before handing it over. "But you should," she finished lamely.

He was refusing to look at her again. "Surely you don't think I can stay after what's happened, do you? I'll be seventeen in a couple of months. Old enough to find a place of my own and to get a job."

Emma was aghast. "You can't."

He ignored her protest and continued, his voice harsh. "I have my O.W.L.s. They'll be good enough for most employers. Maybe an apothecary will take me on. I know Slughorn will write me a reference. If I'm good enough I'll be allowed to brew after a couple of years, maybe get my Ministry Certification." He shrugged, still looking away. "It'll be enough."

"But it won't! You know it won't. We both know you'd never be satisfied working for someone else. I know I've never seen you work, but I've seen your books and your bedroom. You're hopelessly academic, Severus. You'll be miserable if you finish your education early!"

He looked at her then, his eyes suddenly very cold. "I'm miserable now."

Emma sat back, deflated. "It's your choice. I suppose I haven't know you long enough to try and give you advice, but please, Severus, think about it a little longer before you decide. Think of everything you'd be giving up." She reached up and smoothed his hair back from his face; he twitched back out of her reach, looking angry. "You can't let them win. They deserve to leave Hogwarts, not you. Don't let them be the reason you give up on anything."

"I've thought about it long enough already."

"Just give it a little more time. Speak to your Professor Slughorn, ask him what kind of prospects you honestly have. He might be able to put you forward for scholarships and who knows what else. Please," she begged. "You have such a bright future ahead of you. Don't let it go to waste."

He stared at her for the longest time, then finally gave one jerky nod of his head. She squeezed his fingers tightly. He didn't return the pressure.

-x-

It all seemed horribly final. She made sure her shoes were firmly on her feet and that everything had been carefully repacked back inside the odd little bag. She had decided to wear the jumper under her jacket and was clutching the old green cloak firmly as she waited for the dark spell to descend once more. It felt wrong leaving Severus while he was still so far from all right, but she could almost feel the darkness hovering at the edges of her vision.

"I have your address memorised and written on a scrap of paper in my pocket, along with the command "Ask for Severus" in block capitals just in case I forget anything." She informed him, hoping to lighten the mood, if only slightly. It wasn't a joke though, just a sensible precaution. "Of course it means you can never move house."

"I won't," he promised. "Are you sure you won't stay? If we crept out before first light there's a fair chance I could get you through the common room before someone throws a hex at you and Dumbledore would probably be willing to see you. I have something to blackmail him with after all."

It was tempting. Perhaps then they could find a way to keep her fixed in one time. She could stay with Severus then and find a way to keep him happy.

"No. What he did to you leaves me disinclined to trust him," she frowned. "What you said about the grandfather effect has stuck with me too. I think the less people who know about me flitting around like this, the safer it should be. Have Lily or James mentioned me?"

"No. I think Lily might be a bit embarrassed about how she treated you, but she doesn't speak to me unless it's to do with lessons. Potter seems to have conveniently forgotten that entire episode. I think making a prat of himself and being humiliated by a girl may have adversely affected his memory."

"So you're the only person who really knows about me?"

"It would seem so."

There it was. The only person who knew her in this entire shifting world. and she was saying goodbye again.

"If I have done anything to your timeline, then I am truly sorry," she fretted. "If I ever get home then I'll make sure to pop round to Spinner's End and make sure you're alright."

"So I'll see you soon?" Again, that wistful longing, though he had disguised it better this time. If only she could take him with her, away from this horrid school. Or if only there was a way she could stay.

"You will if I have anything to do with it," she tried to sound positive, but failed woefully. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling his close for one final hug. He accepted it awkwardly, patting her on the shoulder. "You'll find your place soon enough, Severus. Someone will recognise how wonderful you are any day now."

The last thing she heard was his snorted reply.

-x-

It was a rushing, whirling sensation. Caught up in a spell that buffeted her about like a leaf in a storm, snatching her up and throwing her around. Feebly she attempted to cling to herself, to keep what she could intact. It felt worse than the last few times, more powerful by far. Panic threatened to drown her.

Unable to catch hold of anything in order to save herself her, mind clung to the one fact it knew to be unassailably true: she had to find Severus.

-x-

She landed heavily, falling back onto the cold stone, the impact jarring the air from her lungs.

She had been expecting snow and biting wind, but instead she found herself in a pleasant, if sparse, office. There was a fire in the grate and the torches had been lit, filling the room with a warm cosy glow.

She stood up carefully, brushing herself down and checking her pockets to make sure her wand and bag were secure. Satisfied that she had everything, she looked around in interest, wondering where the unusually strong burst of magic had carried her to. The room had faded sandstone walls hung with time-softened tapestries that suggested she was still in Hogwarts. The room was practically empty apart from a large oak desk covered in papers and an overturned whisky bottle, and a towering bookcase that almost filled the far wall.

Pulling her wand from her pocket, she stepped closer to investigate – _purely to determine whose office she had arrived at_, she reassured herself. Rounding the desk, she froze, her wand whipping up in an instant. A defensive curse had almost left her lips before she realised that the body, propped up against the wall, had made no move to attack her.

Heart racing, she knelt by his side, fingers racing to find a pulse, calling his name. She thought she could feel a faint, fast pulse jumping at his throat, but there was no sign that he had heard her. He didn't move a muscle, just lay there, half propped up against the stone wall, his black eyes glassy and unseeing.


	15. Chapter 15

_Have I mentioned how grateful I am to __**heartmom88**__ and __**ofankoma**__ for all their help? Believe me, this still wouldn't be finished without heartmom's encouragement and it certainly wouldn't be legible without some serious tweaking by ofankoma. _

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><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen<strong>

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><p>Professor Severus Snape had not long been Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft before he had realised that things were coming to a head.<p>

Lily Potter's son had been born at the end of July the previous year. A healthy, happy child by all accounts, surrounded by loving friends and family. Or at least he had been until the family was forced into hiding as the Dark Lord grew in power. A Dark Lord determined to vanquished the child enemy named in a prophesy that he, Severus Snape, had delivered.

The guilt and the fear had churned inside him for months now, shame and horror mingling at the memory of how heedlessly, how proudly he had betrayed his once best friend to her doom.

Lord Voldemort had listened to his pleas to spare her life with an almost indulgent smile on his handsome, patrician face; amused that his young stalwart could have such strong feelings for another man's wife, and a Mudblood to boot. Gentle emotions often invoked a bemused response from the Dark Lord, himself a creature high above such petty follies and human entanglements. He understood only power and loyalty and purity.

Yet he had smiled benevolently and promised that he would try and spare the woman. He could afford to be generous. It was the child he was interested, in after all; the mother was of little interest to him. He could not guarantee her safety, nor was he particularly happy at the thought of his spy being involved with a Muggleborn, but a promise cost nothing. Severus was useful to him, and the Dark Lord would promise him anything to keep him close, especially as he prepared to enter Hogwarts as a teacher. If the boy was to act traitor to Albus Dumbledore under his very nose, it was essential that nothing affect his focus. There was already talk about the boy being admitted to the Order of the Phoenix. It would not do for him to break cover over something so very simple.

So he promised. And while Severus had bowed, almost scraping the floor in a show of obsequious gratitude, his heart was already turning to ice.

Vague promises mean nothing to the truly terrified.

And so he had approached Dumbledore. Confessed to his involvement with the Death Eaters, admitted to each and every unsavoury act he had committed in their name, had bared his branded arm to the ancient wizard's damning eyes. He was judged and found unworthy. He had known that Dumbledore would have no time for someone as pathetic, as twisted and worthless as himself, but he had been certain that he would allow no harm to befall Lily Evans or her family. It was then that he had heard himself promising anything, _anything_, in return for their safety.

So, Severus Snape turned double agent, a spy with two masters. He lived in constant fear that his treachery might be discovered, knowing there would be no mercy. But greater still was his fear that he might simply displease one of the men who held his reigns. Either man could revoke their promised protection at any moment. The slightest transgression on his part would condemn Lily to death.

And so he had begun his tenure at Hogwarts, teaching students little younger than himself, many of whom remembered his own days at Hogwarts and were inclined to undermine his already uncertain authority. His identity was made known to key members of the Order, and everywhere he turned in that school, he felt himself being watched and appraised. Every single moment was spent in a state of high anxiety, counting down the days until the Dark Lord chose to strike.

The moment came, predictably enough, on Halloween.

It had been expected that a man as fascinated by dark ritual as the Dark Lord would choose a night so steeped in tradition to cement his position and destroy his infant nemesis. How he persuaded the Secret Keeper to reveal the Potter family's location was uncertain, but it had long been believed that there was a spy in the Order's ranks. Severus was not informed of the attack beforehand, despite the less than subtle hints he had begun to drop. He was all too aware that time was running out, and the knowledge made him reckless. Yet he was forced to wait in ignorant silence, feeding what little information he could glean in two directions, his every move planned and dissected by Dumbledore, his every transgression punished by the Dark Lord.

Halloween night he had shut himself in his office, away from the subdued feasting in the great hall, and waited for his Mark to burn in summons.

No summons came.

After what felt like hours of waiting he had fetched the bottle of Muggle Scotch from his desk and had poured himself a measure. Another followed. Then another. It was a stupid, risky thing to do, despite the measure of Sober-Up that sat beside his glass. He would need all his wits about him should he be called, but the constant waiting had driven him to fever pitch. He simply could not go on.

When his Mark began to burn he was almost grateful. But what he felt was not a summons. The Mark writhed and twisted under his skin, filled with a pain greater than anything he had felt since he was first branded. It felt as if something was being wrenched from his very soul, every single nerve screaming out in agony.

He retched, whisky and acid burning his throat as he cried out. He could feel his body begin to thrash uncontrollably, but his mind could focus on nothing but the white, burning pain that threatened to consume him. He could feel himself being dwarfed by it, his mind growing smaller and smaller as it was crushed under the fierce weight of his agony.

-x-

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he came to, sprawled under his desk, his mouth full of the copper tang of his own blood. Blinking up into the silver glow, he realised a Patronus was awaiting his attention. Spitting until his mouth was clear, he had gasped at the ethereal phoenix, demanding answers until Dumbledore's disembodied voice had flooded his sparse chambers.

"_Voldemort has fallen. Lilly and James are dead. The Aurors will be coming for you. You will be safe in your office until my return. The child lives."_

He hadn't waited for the charm to fade before staggering to his office door. As he had feared, it was locked tight, holding him prisoner in his own rooms.

The physical pain in his arm had driven him into unconsciousness, but there was no relief from the mental anguish of this new knowledge. He had killed Lily Evans.

Lily.

Their friendship may have ended years before, but he had never stopped caring about her. For the longest time, she had been his only friend, the first real friend he had ever had. Even once he had been sorted into Slytherin and began to make connections within his own house, she had still been his best friend, the one person he always looked forward to seeing.

And he had killed her.

In his eagerness to prove himself to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he had gladly offered up what little of the prophesy he had overheard, even though his gut had warned him that the child mentioned would not be allowed to live. So _bloody_ eager to be accepted by the outcasts and pure-blood fanatics that flocked to the Dark Lord's side that he had pledge his allegiance before the Mark had even been offered. So pathetically grateful to be called 'brother' by Malfoy and Lestrange that he had been willing to turn a blind eye to the paper thin quality of their ideals, to overlook the darker side of their dogma. His heart had almost burst with pride when the Dark Lord himself had placed a fatherly hand upon his shoulder and marvelled at Severus obvious talent and keen mind and told him of the place for him in the new order to come.

No wonder Dumbledore had looked at him with such disgust. He deserved every moment's torment. The Aurors could take him and lock him up. Surely no Dementor could conjure up a miasma of grief, sorrow, and guilt greater than the one he already felt?

If only it would end.

In self-defence, he began to pull his shields around him, closing in his mind with Occlumency as Dumbledore had shown him. He built the walls so high and so thick that nothing could penetrate them. His office disappeared as he began to build the memory cage he would so often hide away in, a scene so flimsy that even Dumbledore overlooked it when he searched his Spy's mind.

_A canopy of branches, a slight breeze. Green tinged summer sunshine floating down to fill a cool, shady glade. The sound of a stream in the distance, the smell of leaves and earth._

Such a flimsy memory that any Legilimens would simply brush it aside, never guessing what it hid.

He entered the clearing, feeling the light breeze play across his skin, a welcome relief to the fierce summer sun. Nothing could touch him here. He was younger, freer; an innocent with no Marks upon his skin, no reasons to be ashamed.

The last summer of his boyhood.

He crossed the mossy woodland carpet towards the girl who reclined in the dappled sunshine, one arm draped casually across her eyes. A twig snapped under his foot and Emma looked up, a smile of welcome playing across her lips when she saw him. She stretched her arm towards him and he took her hand, allowing himself to be pulled down onto the hard packed earth.

They never spoke, except for the occasional greeting. Often he would simply sit beside her as she relaxed, watching the sun flicker across her face as the branches above moved gracefully in the breeze, wishing he could trace her his fingers across her skin in the same patterns.

Sometimes he came to her in panic, desperate to hide some secret from either of his Masters. Those times she would take the little beaded bag from her pocket and hide whatever it was inside. She never asked him what it was that was so shameful he had to hide it; she simply smiled and zipped the bag closed before stretching out in the sunlight once more. Never questioning, never judging, just hiding parts of him away in a place only she could access. He didn't like to use her memory for such, but it had proven foolproof over the last few months, the only thing he could rely on as his world began to crumble.

This time he didn't let go of her hand but lay down beside her, their fingers intertwined. Mirroring her, he brought one arm up to shield his eyes from the sunlight and closed his eyes, simply focussing on the feel of her hand in his and the quiet sound of her breathing.

-x-

It was peaceful, lying there. The greatest peace he had ever known and it was all a lie, just a figment of an overwrought mind. Hiding away from the world.

-x-

Sometimes, in his darker moments, he wondered if Emma had really ever been more than just the product of a lonely boy's imagination. She had always seemed too good, too damned _convenient_ to be true. Turning up when he needed her most. Giving him a place to hide his treachery. Bringing such an undeserved sense of peace.

He squeezed her imaginary fingers and felt his heart contract as she returned the pressure.

It was so tempting just to stay here and hide away from the world. With the Dark Lord gone, there was no real need for him to stay at Hogwarts or to remain in Dumbledore's service. He might never be free of his past, but here at least, hidden away in some sunlit corner of his mind, he could at least manage to forget.

-x-

He felt a moment's panic when he realised Emma's hand was no longer in his. Then he felt the pressure of her hand through the fabric of his sleeve and allowed himself to relax once more.

The hand moved again, touching his face and smoothing back his hair.

This was different. He had never allowed himself to imagine Memory Emma bestowing any more intimate touches upon him, though she had been quick to hold him or to touch him in real life. If it had been real life.

"Severus."

Ah, so this was it. Without waiting for his permission his mind had started its steady, spiralling descent into madness. As he felt her warm hand upon his chest, just above his heart, he had to admit it really was rather pleasant. He had always supposed that his mind would take him somewhere dark and haunted.

This was decidedly the opposite.

"Severus!"

The voice became more urgent, the hands more frantic.

A distant part of his mind suggested that there was someone with him in his office, someone tending to him. He sincerely doubted that the Aurors would be so gentle, and he had never known Dumbledore call his name with such tender possessiveness. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey – _Poppy_ – had been summoned to tend to him. She had always been kind to him.

"Please, Severus, wake up!"

He was loath to leave the comfort of his memory cage, but he could not escape the fact that he had a _duty_ to return. That he would have to face the world sooner or later. He owed it to Lily to be tried and sentenced for what he had done. It would be cowardly to hide.

He carefully dismantled the summer's evening, hiding the trees away until such times that he might need their comfort again. He would, after all, have all the time that Azkaban could offer to spend locked away in his own mind.

Slowly his office came back into view. With it came a wild-haired and frantic-looking Emma.

He blinked.

She was kneeling between his legs, wiping at his face with a clean rag from under his sink. Her face was pale with worry, but other than tha,t she seemed utterly unchanged.

"Emma?" he asked, confused. It had been one thing for his memories to take on a life of their own inside his mind. He had not believed that his fantasies would spill over into his waking world. Yet here she was.

On hearing her name she burst into tears and threw her arms around his neck. She smelt of musty wool and the pink stuff she had worked into her hair. He had forgotten about the pink stuff.

She was really there.

He brought his arms up and touched her gently, his fingers brushing her sides, afraid she might disappear. She was warm and wonderfully solid.

When she pulled away her face was red and streaked with tears. She was beautiful.

"Thank goodness! Are you alright? I couldn't find anything wrong with you, but I don't know very much about dark curses. I tried to go for help, but all the doors are locked and I think there might be a silencing spell on the door too because I can't hear anything from outside—"

She continued to babble as she wiped his face and smoothed his hair. In anyone else the sound would have been irritating, but it felt wonderful just to sit there and bask in her obvious concern. His shields were still half raised and there was something otherworldly about sitting in detached silence while a woman whom he had come to fear only existed in his mind fussed over him.

When she had finally run out words to say – and cleansing charms to cast – he had pulled her towards him again. The angle was awkward and the stone floor must have been hard under her knees, but she sank against him instantly, her arms encircling him and her small hands rubbing aimless patterns on his back. She sniffed quietly, and he realised she had begun to cry again. This time, however, her sobs were small and soft as her arms tightened around him. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes.

Slowly, so very slowly, he allowed the last of his shields to drop. Finally, in the brief respite of her embrace, he allowed himself to feel.

-x-

After a while she moved, sliding down the wall to sit beside him, her arm and leg brushing his, her hand securely tucked in his larger one. It was odd that her physical presence could bring as much peace as her memory could. Yet while her memory would sit with him in silence, it was only a matter of time before she spoke again.

"What happened?" Such a difficult question, far more loaded than she could have guessed.

"I can't talk about it, Emma."

She frowned. "Is this like the last time? Do you need me to guess?"

"God, no," he shuddered. "I don't even want to think about it."

Her brown eyes were so large, almost doe like. "Then what do you need me to do?"

He raised their joined hands, turning his wrist to examine how her fingers twined seamlessly with his. "This is enough."

-x-

There was a sudden flicker and Emma raised her wand automatically as the silver light of a Patronus filled the room.

"_I am on my way. Ready yourself."_

So, it was time.

"Who was that?" Emma demanded. "What does it mean?"

"Dumbledore is on his way." He stood carefully, helping Emma from the floor before downing the Sober-Up Potion, grimacing as always at the sickly taste. "It is time for you to leave."

"I'll face him with you," she argued. "I won't leave you again!"

It was odd how the world could keep spinning on its axis and other peoples' lives continue as usual, while everything you knew could shift so unalterably in the space of a few short hours.

He smiled.

"I have to leave here, Emma, and I'm afraid I have to go alone." He held a hand up to forestall any argument. "I'll be perfectly safe," he lied. Already his personal wards were warning him of someone approaching his rooms. In a moment Emma would probably be able to feel it as Dumbledore's spell was removed from the door.

Placing his hands upon her shoulders he drew her close and placed a light kiss upon her forehead. "Go," he whispered.

Her eyes searched his for the longest moment before she nodded and let out a tiny, sad sigh. "I'll find a way to come back," she promised.

"I know," he replied. She opened her mouth to reply, but with impeccable timing, she flickered and was gone.

-x-

Headmaster hastily dropped the wards to his Potion Master's office, only too aware of what he might find within. He knew he should have sent a staff member to watch over the boy, but there had been so little time to make any arrangements. Thankfully the Aurors, though hot on his trail, had only just arrived at the castle gates.

Entering the room, he was surprised to find Snape waiting for him, looking as grave and calm as he had ever seen him. He held his cloak over his arm like one expecting to shortly depart.

"Headmaster," he greeted him, nodding his head slightly in deferential greeting. Dumbledore crossed the room swiftly to the now unwarded fireplace, throwing in a handful of Floo Powder.

"We have a few precious moments left, Severus. Come to my office, quickly. There is much we need to discuss."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

><p>Something terrible had happened.<p>

Something so terrible that Severus could not talk about it. After the werewolf attack (it was impossible to dismiss it as an _incident_, even in her own mind), he had spoken to her, needed to put what had happened into words. This had to be something far, _far_ worse.

Emma had finally recognised the Occlumency that closed him off from the outside world, and it had shocked her to her core. She knew there were a handful of wizards out there who could hide their thoughts from prying eyes, but she had only ever come across a couple of references to wizards who could shut the world out completely. It had to have been an act of complete desperation. And Occlumency alone could not explain the blood drying at the corners of his mouth or around his nostrils, nor the stains that had covered his sweat-soaked shirt.

The relief when he had murmured her name had been a very real, physical thing. She had been certain that she had felt her heart restart inside her chest, and a horrible, leaden weight had fallen from her limbs. She had practically collapsed in a heap on top of him when his eyes had finally focussed on hers. Unable to help the sob that had torn through her, clawing its way from her chest like a wild animal, she had buried her face in his dishevelled hair and held on to him for all she was worth, faint with relief that he was alive and that they were together.

The relief was short-lived. Something terrible had happened, and something terrible – or maybe even worse – was to come.

She had seen it in the set of his shoulders and in the hard line of his mouth as the wards began to drop from around his doorway. Something terrible was coming - and he had pushed her away rather than have her face it at his side. Was it selfish of her to feel so utterly wretched? To feel that her place should have been by his side, no matter who or what was to come through those doors?

She had _known_ how much he had needed her as they sat hand in hand against the cold of the stone wall. Her being there had been _important_. More so that the night she had spent in his dormitory bed, far more so than the days she had spent with him down beside the canal or chasing pointlessly through Diagon Alley. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had needed her to be with him, that it was _her_ turn to help _him_.

Yet he had pushed her away.

He had pushed her away and the horrid, spinning darkness had conspired to snatch her from him. It was the first time she had fought the spell, not just feebly struggling, but actively kicking and twisting against the darkness. But how do you fight against the tide, against a whirlpool? She was thrown this way and that, and when the spell finally released her, she was battered, exhausted, and thoroughly defeated.

She sank down, her head buried in the folds of the cloak, not caring where she might have been left this time. The horrible sick feeling was back, flooding her stomach with a twisting, terrifying sense of wrongness.

-x-

It wasn't until her teeth began to chatter violently that Emma realised she was back in the grey light of the bleak, snowy day. She pulled the cloak more tightly around herself, her numb fingers fumbling with the heavy wool as the sharp wind caused the flakes to dance around.

Severus was somewhere out there. He was out there somewhere beyond the snow, and she had no idea what had happened to him.

-x-

Although she had managed not to cry, Emma still felt ridiculously melodramatic and more than a little foolish. No amount of huddling miserably in alleyways was going to do anything to help Severus, and besides, the spell had deposited her less that a mile away from his house. There was a chance he might be home for the winter holiday, and if not, his parents would be able to tell her where he was. She had been wasting precious time when she could have been doing something. She clambered awkwardly upright and stamped her feet until some of their numbness receded.

She set off briskly, the cold muscles in her legs complaining after being still for so long, the old cloak flapping desultorily around her ankles. Like before, the grey streets were empty, and no cars disturbed the tiny drifts of snow that were starting to build at the edges of the road.

The cold air was making her cough by the time she reached the frozen playing field, and she crossed the grass carefully, remembering just how treacherous and icy it had been in places before. She was roughly half way across the Rec, sticking close to the line of bushes for shelter from the ever blustery weather, when she stopped. A sudden lull in the wind had carried a sound to her from closer than she had expected.

There it was again! Coming, she was certain, from the dense bushes to her right. A sad, desultory little sob.

She turned to study the hedgerow. There were narrow breaks in the foliage at irregular intervals, large enough for a child to crawl through to retrieve a lost football or to play at hide and seek. She took a step closer and felt the wind strike up again.

"Hello?" She edged closer to the hedge line, treading with greater care, conscious of how the churned up mud had formed into stiff, icy peaks.

-x-

_Of course_, her mind supplied, as she felt herself be dragged away from the hedgerow. _The moment something is about to be revealed, I get pulled away_. She had no will left to fight anymore. Resigned, she let herself be pulled limply along by the spell.

It would do whatever it wished, regardless.

-x-

She blinked in the sudden warm light, her nose wrinkling at the smell of watery decay.

-x-

She was by the canal.

And it was summer again.

Of all the places she could dream to be magically whisked away to, who would believe that she would set her heart on a litter-strewn pathway under a dank bridge beside a smelly, suspiciously brown canal? Yet here she was, already pulling the cloak from her shoulders and scrabbling up the bank, the smell of ducks heavy in the evening air.

"Please," she whispered as she reached the road, "_please, please, please._" She continued the hushed mantra as she rounded the corner, slowing when she hit the uneven cobbles. She wasn't certain to whom she was praying or what she was asking for other than that Severus would be home for the summer.

A barely formed thought kept threatening to bubble to the surface of her mind, but she shied away from it, not daring to give the tiny hope any chance to grow.

Could she be back in the first summer she had met Severus? Would she have a chance to warn him, to save him from whatever trauma lay ahead?

She pushed the idea aside ruthlessly. Her experiences with the spell that kept picking her up and throwing her through time gave her little reason to hope. Just seeing him again would be enough. She just had to know that he was safe.

She sped down the dusty path, wishing she had bothered to remove her jumper and jacket as well, the muggy air making her damp and breathless. The streets were busier than before, cars parked down one side and a steady stream of traffic filling the road. She slowed to a walk as she rounded the corner, conscious that she was drawing attention to herself, staggering along in her winter layers.

Nearing the house, she paused. She hadn't considered the likelihood that one of his parents might open the door, and she couldn't think of a plausible explanation for why she was there. Mrs Snape would be bound to recognise the cloak currently bundled up in her arms. Neither were likely to welcome her inside.

She stood to one side to allow two ladies in burkas to pass her and realised that, if nothing else, dithering on the doorstep would only start to attract attention from the neighbours – something the doubted any of the Snapes would thank her for. Fighting the urge to glance nervously over her shoulder, she knocked on the door. After a couple of minutes, she raised her hand to knock again, anxiety gnawing at her stomach. What if no one were to answer? She actually sighed in happy relief when the door swung inwards before her knuckles could connect with the faded paint.

_Severus_.

He stood aside to let her into the house, and she quickly glanced round the little room in interest. Most of the furniture had gone, making it seem larger. Bookshelves now covered much of the wall space and boxes of books filled the floor. There was a click as the door closed, and she looked up to find him watching her, his dark eyes shadowed.

She found herself disconcerted by his silence. He made no move to welcome her, and the adrenaline that had carried her here from the canal suddenly fell away, leaving an odd empty feeling in its place. She cleared her throat.

"Hello."

It seemed inadequate, especially given the state he had been in when they had last parted ways. There was no trace of any distress about him now, nor for that matter, any trace of the teenager she had been secretly hoping to find. Although he looked almost completely the same, the effect was entirely different. The air of slightly shabby unkemptness had gone, and he held himself differently. His hair, though still long, had more style to it, falling more softly round his face, and his clothes looked expensive and crisply tailored.

"You look good." It hadn't been what she'd meant to say, but it was the truth nonetheless. He had grown into his tall frame and no longer seemed awkward; indeed, he looked almost stately in his severely cut clothes. He'd _almost_ grown into his nose.

Some of the darkness left his face with her simple, blurted compliment. "Hello, Emma," he returned, softly.

And with that, she was across the room and in his arms. "I missed you," she admitted to his waistcoat. "I was so worried."

"There was no need for you to worry about me," he chided, softly.

"But Dumbledore—"

"Is a good man, Emma," he interrupted firmly. "He was just looking out for me."

"I didn't want to leave you." She whispered, knowing her voice would betray her if she spoke aloud. "I would have stayed."

She felt the sigh as it vibrated through his chest. "We agreed it was best for you to remain unseen. That room had been warded to keep me safe. We would have been hard-pressed to explain how you got past the enchantments of one of the greatest wizards alive. It was best that you left." He squeezed her shoulders gently. "How long ago did you last see me?"

"A couple of hours ago," she sniffed. "I got caught in the snow again. I – I was scared that I'd be stuck there." And that was the big fear, wasn't it? That she'd be stuck somewhere, unable to make her way back to him. When had Severus replaced home as her longed for destination? Was it simply that he was all she knew in this strange, disjointed world? "When did you last see me?"

"Nearly two years ago." She caught the scent of alcohol on his breath then and looked up, aware that she was still caught in his embrace. When did that change, too? There was nothing awkward about his holding her now. What had happened between them in that sparse office, just a few hours ago?

"The gaps are getting further apart," she noted quietly, disentangling herself from his arms, feeling suddenly unsure of herself. "I see you're redecorating," she nodded towards the bookshelves. "Do your parents not mind?"

He studied her quietly for a moment and she felt like squirming under his direct gaze. When had that changed, too? This new Severus, though much more tactile, was almost intimidating, with his silences and his unwavering eyes. She had never felt the need to make small talk before.

"Both my parents are gone," he informed her calmly. "My mother passed away a couple of months ago. This is my house now."

"Oh, Severus. I always choose the worst times to just turn up."

And it was true; every time something terrible happened, she was always there to provide an audience, no doubt when he most wanted to be left alone. She pulled further away from him, biting her lip, wondering if she should leave. He was too kind to ask her to go, but she knew she was intruding on something very personal. Correctly interpreting her gesture, he caught hold of her hand and pulled her further into the room.

"You do," he agreed, gravely. "For which I couldn't be more grateful."

He tugged her gently towards the sagging brown sofa and sat beside her, her hand still trapped in his. With his free hand, he gestured to the bottles on the coffee table. "I was just having a drink. Will you join me?" He summoned an extra glass from the kitchen and poured her a healthy measure of amber liquid. She sipped it cautiously, feeling the gentle burn as it hit the back of her throat.

"Do you recognise it?" he pressed. "It's the whisky you had that day we went to Diagon Alley."

There was something very earnest in his voice that she couldn't interpret. Feeling slightly lost by the conversation she nodded towards the second bottle. "What's in that one?" It was small and blue, made with thick, ridged glass.

He followed her gaze, a slight frown marring his face. "It's a potion I've been working on."

She looked up. "So you went into Potions after all?"

"I have my Mastership," he nodded, still somewhat grave.

She laughed. "Are you Master Snape now?"

He laughed as well, and she was relieved to see the last of the shadows leave his face. "It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"I think it's wonderful," she told him truthfully, squeezing his hand. "I'm so proud of you; I know it couldn't have been easy." He gave her an odd sort of look, and she flushed, aware of how patronising she must have sounded.

He shrugged. "You told me I could do it."

-x-

Severus, she noticed, didn't seem to be suffering from any of the awkwardness that seemed to be crippling her. Nor, for that matter, did he seem to be suffering from any of the awkwardness that had plagued him as an adolescent. He was almost serene. She wasn't sure if he was Occluding again or if it was the whisky he had been drinking before her arrival. Whatever had caused this strange transformation in him didn't seem to be having any negative impact on his speech or movement, though. It was the very opposite, in fact.

Every move he made, especially the slight gestures he made with his hands, seemed precise and graceful, almost as if he was following the steps to a dance. He had always had a pleasant voice, even when it had occasionally wavered when he had been younger; now he had grown into it, much like he had grown into his tall, lithe frame, and it had a rich, warm quality, much like the whisky he poured for her.

And there it was again. The terrible feeling that he had grown out of her, that she still belonged to the summer they had met. It must have been years ago for him. He had grown into an accomplished young man. She was still the lost girl his parents had found in the gutter.

It was so horribly, horribly sad. Oh, he had been pleased to see her, but it was obvious that he didn't need her at all any more. He was an adult now, collected and precise, while she was still the same as before. Creased clothes, wild hair, frantically falling from one place to the next. Relying on him for every little thing.

It didn't help her sudden nerves that he was watching her like a hawk. His black eyes seemed to follow every little move she made as she sat beside him, her legs tucked up underneath her, slowly nursing the single malt he had poured for her. She didn't really like the taste, but it seemed important to him that she enjoy it, so she sipped it appreciatively, revelling in the slight burn that warmed her throat and chest. After the cold of the snow and the upheaval of the last few hours, it was soothing, and she accepted the proffered refill gratefully.

They sat quietly as the evening sun dipped towards the horizon, filling the room with a muted golden light. Neither moved to switch the lamps on, and as the day darkened into twilight, Emma felt herself begin to relax. Perhaps it was the warmth of the evening, or maybe it was just the whisky, but as the silence stretched out between them, she gave up trying to think of things to say and became content to simply sit beside him. It helped that his hand returned to hers each time he refreshed their glasses, their fingers interlinking with the ease of old acquaintance.

She studied his hand in the little light that was left. There was a scar across the knuckle of his index finger. It looked recent, raised against the pale skin, yet smooth to the touch as she ran her thumb across it. There were a thousand daily risks in potions, what with the knives, naked flames, and boiling cauldrons; experimental potions had the added danger of almost complete unpredictability. Thinking about potions was reminding her of something else, but the memory drifted beyond her reach. Something to do with Severus.

Glancing up, she saw his eyes were also fixed upon their fingers and she realised that she was still brushing her thumb lightly over the back of his hand. She stopped guiltily, but he did not look up. Instead, he mimicked the gesture, his thumb tracing the same light pattern across her skin. She swallowed.

"Do you remember what you told me?" he asked. The sound of his voice was so unexpected in the quiet of the approaching night that she flinched. His eyes were still downcast as if he were addressing the question to her fingers. "That night in the dormitory? That it wouldn't matter if I practised the Dark Arts – or if I had been bitten by a werewolf – that I would still be Severus to you?"

He was holding himself completely still, and it took Emma a moment realise what it was he was asking. She felt the sudden wild urge to giggle, but quelled it instantly; this would be the worst time possible to laugh. Instead, she squeezed his fingers tightly.

"You'd still be _my_ Severus," she corrected softly.

After that the silence didn't seem awkward at all.

-x-

She must have dozed off, because suddenly it was properly dark, and Severus was gently shaking her shoulder.

It was cooler now, but there was still the delicious warmth of the whisky in her belly. It was so lovely and relaxing to have been given the time just to sit with Severus without the sudden darkness sweeping round her. She let him pull her to her feet and followed him up the stairs, his wandlight leading the way, the silver white light throwing steep shadows across the hallway.

She wondered if he had taken over the main bedroom now that he was the owner of the house, but his eyes skipped straight past the door as he led her into his old room. The desk was tidy and there were more books stacked on top of the bookcase, but otherwise it seemed unchanged. It was dustier and had a slightly neglected air to it, but it felt a little bit like coming home. She looked around happily, yawning widely, reflecting that this was the only room she could remember having ever slept in.

Severus sat down on the bed, his posture still rigidly correct, rolling his wand idly between his fingers.

"Emma, will you stay?" he asked suddenly. Maybe it was the whisky or maybe she was just dog tired, but the question made no sense.

"Where else would I go to," she huffed. "Back out into the snow? I wouldn't have left last time if you'd let me stay," she added with some asperity.

He lifted his head, watching her again, the strange darkness back in his eyes. He held out his hand, and she was happy to link her fingers back with his as he pulled her down to sit beside him, the mattress creaking slightly under the added weight.

"I meant will you stay _here_, with me?"

* * *

><p><em>Well, I did list this story as a Romance...<em>

Sorry to end it there but this chapter is already ridiculously long. I'm actually having to split it into three parts.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

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><p>"<em>Will you stay, Emma?"<em>

"_Where else would I go to; back out into the snow?" she had wondered. "I wouldn't have left last time if you'd let me stay." _

"_I meant will you stay here, with me?"_

* * *

><p>Time was a strange thing, and time, it would seem, was passing strangely.<p>

Try as she might, Emma could not work out how long she had been caught in Severus' world. Days seemed to roll into one another, the weeks, months and years sweeping past her. Was this only the third night she had spent here? At times, everything seemed to rush by her in a blur, and she would be certain that she had only been caught up in the spell for a matter of moments. Other times, especially when she was tired or lost, it would feel as though she had been battling against the swirling darkness for months on end.

Regardless of how slowly time could move for her, it was becoming obvious that Severus' life was rushing ahead. The gaps between their meetings seemed to be growing wider, and the moments she got to spend with him seemed to be racing by with increasing speed.

It made lying there, holding his hand, seem infinitely precious.

Honestly, she hadn't even considered that she might _not_ spend the night with him. It was the only way to be certain she wouldn't simply vanish into the night and besides, she had never felt any qualms about climbing into bed with him before. Yet having him put the idea into words, to actually _ask_ her to stay, was a forcible reminder that _this_ Severus, though still the same in so many ways, was no longer the boy she had met. Truthfully, there was nothing boyish left about him at all. She didn't know what had happened to him since first they had met, but it had obviously lefts its mark.

She had glanced up at him, hoping that a sneaked look at his face might go some way to answering the questions his words had raised, but he had let his hair fall to cover his eyes. She'd never seen his hair look quite so clean before; it shone almost blue-black in the wandlight, and she'd had to quell the sudden urge to reach up and push it back from his face, wondering if it could really be as silken soft as it appeared.

If he had felt her gaze he gave no sign of it, hiding behind the curtain of hair, his body tense and still. It was only then that she had understood that he was nervous.

He expected her to refuse, she'd realised. He, too, had come to doubt the strange bond between them, had felt them begin to drift apart. She'd given his fingers a little squeeze.

"Of course," she'd answered.

-x-

Despite her tiredness, Emma fought the urge to sleep. It was difficult; she felt so happy and secure, not to mention warmly sleepy, that it would have been so easy just to drift off. But she could tell by his breathing that Severus was still awake, and she was loath to waste one second of her time with him. Who knew how swiftly the horrid darkness would descend to snatch her away? She was determined to savour every moment she had left until it did.

Ideally, she would have liked to snuggle closer, maybe wrap her arms around him, or rest her head against his shoulder. He probably wouldn't have objected, but she was terrified of ruining the perfect sense of peace she had discovered by his side. Besides, he had been very careful not to touch anything but her fingers despite the narrowness of the bed. He, too, seemed to be aware of the fragile nature of their new friendship. And so they lay there, side by side, listening to the sound of one another's breathing, occasionally daring to run a thumb across the other's hand.

She had been oddly nervous before, racing to clean her teeth before the spell could steal her away, then hastily repeating the lengthening spell upon one of her loose hairs to bind her discarded cloak and shoes to her, just in case. The nerves had vanished, though, the moment she had returned to his room to find him waiting, his feet bare on the worn carpet, his face oddly open. Getting into bed beside him had felt delightfully natural; both still mostly clothed despite the closeness of the night air, they lay in silence, hand in hand.

The window was open, the curtains swaying in the warm, fitful breeze that did little to relieve the stuffiness of the night. Emma watched the shadows it caused as they chased across the ceiling, feeling her eyelids begin to droop.

This must be what home felt like.

-x-

The rain came suddenly; the quiet sounds of a town at night swiftly drowned out by the heavy drops as they drummed down on the roof and slapped against the window. The breeze turned cooler, and Emma finally found the courage to edge her way closer to Severus, stopping once his arm rested warmly against her. His fingers tightened round hers.

The rain was fierce; the fat round drops that only seem to fall in summer, hurling themselves noisily downwards. There was swift flash of lightening, throwing the ceiling into sudden relief, but Emma couldn't hear the replying thunder over the noise of the rain. She hoped there might be an electric storm but, just as the rain reached crescendo, it ceased, disappearing as suddenly as it had arrived. The silence that followed held a new quality. It felt as if she was holding her breath, waiting for the next flash of lightening, the next peel of thunder.

"Summer storm," she murmured, pulling the blanket higher with her free hand. When Severus didn't reply, she glanced across to see if he had fallen asleep. He had turned his head to face her; it was hard to tell in the darkness, but she was certain he was staring at her again, that odd, considering look on his face that meant he was carefully weighing what he was about to say.

She wondered what it might say about their relationship that she found it easier to read his face when she couldn't see it.

"Do you know what I liked best about you?" he asked, his voice pitched low and soft, little more than a whisper. "Back when we first met, before I got to know you?"

She twisted slightly to face him, unsure if she should answer or simply let him speak. Knowing Severus, he had wanted to say something since the moment they had got into bed, perhaps since she had arrived.

"I liked the fact that you didn't know a single thing about me," he continued. "You didn't have any preconceived ideas about me. Everyone else has always judged me on my home, my parents, my friends – even my house at school. You were one of the only people who took me at face value. And you seemed to like me, regardless."

"Of course I did," she reasoned, but he wasn't listening. Instead, he griped her fingers tightly, his voice becoming harsh.

"I can't help feeling like I'm lying to you," he admitted. "I know there is no way you would be willing to stay with me like this if you knew what I was really like, what I had really done. I know I should tell you all the things you deserve to know, but I can't bring myself to do it." His grip was almost painful now. "What if you leave and never come back?"

Emma blinked. Once again she was feeling lost amid the conversation, uncertain of how she was supposed to respond. "I won't go anywhere," she promised, "not as long as you want me here – and you don't have to tell me anything, Severus. I know you."

"I've done things," he hissed. "Said things—"

"Do you regret them?" she demanded softly.

"Of course! I've tried to hard to make amends but it never seems to be enough." He sounded half wild as he desperately tried to make her understand whatever it was he was telling her. Even in the darkness, she could see the flash of the whites of his eyes, and for a moment, she felt real fear. Then, just as swiftly as the storm had ended, the fight seemed to go out of him. "You would hate me," he finished quietly.

Emma shifted closer to him, pulled her hand free of his death grip and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, pulling him against her in a fierce hug. He didn't push her away, but then he didn't move to hold her either. Undeterred, she began to speak, pitching her voice to be as soothing as possible.

"You forget, Severus, I've met your parents. I know you were in Slytherin. You called me a filthy Muggle the first time we met," she recalled, smiling at the memory, the sullen boy-Severus lounging against the doorframe, his face full of contempt. The sullen boy who had then helped her to drink when he realised she couldn't hold the glass steady herself. Who had been the one to discover that she was a witch. "None of that's important; what matters is that you did your best to help me even though you wanted nothing more than to be rid of me."

She reached up then, finally allowing herself to brush his hair back from his face, the superfine strands slipping through her fingers. It was even softer than she had imagined. "You didn't know me either – I could have been anything, anyone. I still could be for that matter. I can't promise that there's nothing that you could say that wouldn't shock me." After all, _something_ had caused him to employ Occlumency to such a fearsome degree. Something had caused the change in him from sullen boy to dangerous young man – and he _was_ dangerous. She hadn't understood at first what the change in him had been, not when she felt so secure with her hand tucked in his, but something had honed him into a very hard blade with a keen and deadly edge. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to know what it was.

She continued to toy with his hair, choosing her words just as deliberately as he had. "I'm sure you could scare me if you wanted to," she admitted. "But so long as you try to make amends for whatever it is that you've done, I don't think there's anything I couldn't forgive you for."

In the silence that followed, Emma could tell he was weighing her words carefully. Part of her dreaded that he was about to tell her something truly awful. She hadn't lied; she was certain that she would forgive him anything if she thought he needed her to, but the coward in her would really rather remain in ignorance. Still, if he needed to tell her something, she would listen to every word.

"My father died of lung cancer three years ago."

It hadn't been what she had expected to hear, but she nodded her head for him to continue. Although he couldn't see her clearly in the darkness, he must have correctly interpreted her movement against him as he took a deep breath and continued.

"I was away at the time," he explained. "Studying for my Mastery. I knew he was sick, but I didn't visit. I've always hated Muggle hospitals ever since I was little, and I hated my father for even longer. I think I was glad that he was ill, glad that he was suffering from such a despicable Muggle ailment – the Emperor of Maladies, they call it. It was one more way that I could never be like him. All the things that defined him were an anathema to me. He was a Muggle, he had a physical job and mistrusted anyone more skilled or educated that himself. I'm a wizard, an academic; my education defines me.

"Perhaps I could have helped him," he shrugged. "Magical potions always yield unpredictable results for Muggles, and I doubt he would have taken them willingly anyway, but I never even tried. He was probably sickening when you met him, but the fool never went to the doctor if he could help it. I suppose that's one way in which we are similar," he mused. "In the end he worsened rapidly. It's not a dignified death, I'm told."

Emma wondered if she had ever heard him speak at such length before. She was fascinated, despite herself. It was extraordinary to be allowed a glimpse into the life of such a private person, even if his measured tone betrayed no emotion other than self reproach.

"I attended the funeral," he continued. "I went more for my mother's sake than his. I had hoped that his death would free her from the life their marriage had forced her to live. She was free to be a witch again, to leave this dreary place. I was shocked when I saw her." He stopped, seeming to have to search for the words to continue. "You have to understand, there was never any tenderness between my parents. They never spoke gently to each other; I never had the embarrassment of catching them kissing or holding hands. Perhaps it was there when I was younger, I don't remember. We seemed little more than an inconvenience to him, and my mother certainly didn't spare him any kindness in return. You must have heard them yourself." Of course, he had probably hoped she had still been unconscious when he had uttered that first, scathing insult. He must know she had been aware of the shouted argument drifting up from downstairs. "I thought she would be glad like I was. I had planned to move her somewhere close to Hogsmede, to let her rejoin the magical community, supplement my father's pension with my salary so that she might live how she used to before she married.

"When I arrived, she was being supported by a couple of the neighbours. They practically had to carry her from the graveside. She seemed completely undone by her grief. I turned and left. It – it disgusted me," he whispered. "After then it was as if she just gave up. I felt like she'd betrayed me all over again, chosen his side over mine, even after he was gone. I only came home occasionally, and each time I did it was as if she had shrunk in on herself. Then she died. And all I could feel was relief. I was glad that she was gone, glad that both of them were dead."

His story ended as abruptly as it had begun, but he was breathing as if he had just run a race, his body rigid beside her. She searched frantically for something to say, something that could make it better. But really, what could she say? It was a horribly sad story, but as far as she could tell there was no blame in it. Families often drifted apart, and stress and illness rarely brought out the best in people.

She wondered how he would look in that moment if she was to summon a light. Would the terrible vulnerability she had heard in his voice show on his face? Or would it be the impassive mask she had only just begun to realise was part of his armour?

She was desperately out of her depth. He needed something from her, that was clear, but she was at a loss to explain what it might be.

"Oh, Severus," she breathed, wrapping her arms around him once again. "Come here." Once again he made no move towards her but she pulled him closer anyway, undeterred. "Come here," she repeated firmly, and finally he allowed himself to sink into her embrace, burying his face in her hair as she held him close. His arms tightened around her as she murmured his name.

He didn't cry, didn't speak; he just held her tightly as his breathing began to calm.

"You're still my Severus," she reminded him. A strange shiver ran through him at her words but his grip loosened slightly, his hand dropping to her waist, his breathing now soft against her ear.

How long they lay like that she could not tell, but as the silence grew between them it became impossible to ignore the fact that she was still lying in his arms. As if conscious of her thoughts, he drew back slightly to look at her. His face was still lost in the shadows, and she wondered if he could see her at all.

She knew then with sudden clarity that he was going to kiss her.

She ought to speak, she realised, she ought to think of a way to deflect him without making it seem like she was rejecting him. Kissing him would be a mistake. They had both been drinking, and he was obviously not thinking clearly; he had displayed more violent emotion in the last few minutes than he ever had before. His reserved aloofness had vanished, leaving an almost feverish earnestness in its place.

Such a wealth of feeling, now all of it focussed on her. It was dizzying. It was exciting.

Her mouth was dry, and she knew then that even if she could think of a gentle way to push him away that she honestly did not want to.

She had been here before, she realised. That feeling of knowing that what was about to happen would complicate everything, but wanting it all the same. She wondered how she had acted that previous – now forgotten – time; if she had been sensible and mature or if she had chosen to accept the risk and with it this delicious, coiling feeling of nervous excitement.

By then was too late; she was already beyond the point of being able to decide rationally. Aware that this might be a terribly bad idea, she tilted her head back slightly in silent encouragement.

She lay very still, scarcely daring to breathe in case she somehow broke the strange bubble of silence that held them.

Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his lips to meet hers.

His kisses were soft and hesitant, his lips barely whispering against hers. His hands rested only lightly on her now, as if giving her every opportunity to flee. Even now, she realised, he expected her to push him away. With that thought, something seemed to melt inside of her, and she tilted her head further, pressing her lips firmly against his. She let her eyes drift shut and surrendered herself completely to the sensation of his mouth against hers.

A small sound escaped his throat, a tiny little growl of surprise or triumph or maybe both, and suddenly he was kissing her ardently, his long fingers stroking her face and sinking into her hair, pulling her closer still. Emma opened her mouth slightly, eager to deepen the kiss. He tasted like whisky and longing, and her stomach dipped almost uncomfortably as his tongue brushed against hers.

She let his weight push her down against the mattress gladly and shifted her legs slightly to accommodate him in the cradle of her hips. Both her hands flew up to hold his face, her fingers sliding against the sharp angles of his jaw and the delicate curve of his ears.

Nothing mattered – nothing in the world – except this feeling of dizzying closeness. For one fragile moment, Emma felt as if she was on the edge of understanding every strange and terrifying thing that had happened to her since arriving in this shifting, changing world. She strained against him, pushing herself against him until there was nothing between them but the thin layers of their clothing, yet even that seemed too much. She felt as though everything would become clear if she could just get that tiny bit closer.

Her ragged breathing matched his own, but she couldn't find it in herself to be the least bit embarrassed.

His hands began to roam across her skin, sliding over her clothes as he explored the shape of her beneath him. She could only welcome the sensation, twisting against him, her own hands dropping to trace the musculature of his arms beneath his shirt and the hard planes of his chest.

It was only when his clever fingers began to fumble with the buttons of the trousers that the reality of their actions suddenly crashed down upon her, and she froze under his touch. He snatched his hand away immediately, breaking the kiss.

And, just like that, the moment was gone.

"I'm sorry," Emma blurted instantly as he began to extricate himself from her grasp.

"My apologies," he countered politely. "I misread the situation."

"No," she breathed, struggling to catch her breath. "I just — I wasn't expecting—"

"You don't need to explain," he interrupted: his measured tone in stark contrast with his throaty breathes from just a few moments before. Freeing himself from the blanket, he stood and straightened the cuffs of his shirt. "I will let you rest in peace."

Completely thrown by the sudden change in him, Emma grabbed her wand from the little bedside table. "_Lumos_."

He made no effort to shield his eyes from the sudden light, and she was appalled to realise they were completely cold, his face blank. It wasn't that he was looking at her coldly; he didn't seem to be looking at her with emotion of any sort, so different from the vital young man she had spent the evening with. It was as if he were completely empty. It reminded her so forcibly of the unresponsive, unseeing stare she had seen in that Hogwarts office that she shuddered. "Please don't do this," she whispered.

"I'm sorry if shocked you," his tone was coldly polite and undeniably distant. "I should have realised my attentions weren't welcome. I'll go."

"Severus," she pleaded but his face remained impassive. "Talk to me, Severus – please, don't leave it like this!"

"You don't have to feel concerned about seeing me again if that is what you are worried about. I won't call you again."

"Call me again?" she echoed faintly.

"Haven't you noticed the pattern?"

"What pattern? Severus, wait!" She scrambled after him, but he was already gone from the room, the light of his wand already disappearing down the narrow staircase. She hurried after him, knowing that if he was to leave the house before she reached him, there was a strong chance he would Apparate away, and she would have lost all chance of reasoning with him.

If only he wouldn't hide away from her! Part of her was angry with him for overreacting so disproportionately to her unintentional slight. But even as she raged against him, she knew that the damage had been done by her. She had known full well the state he had been in, how vulnerable he had made himself by telling her about his parents. It had been an incredible show of trust on his part, and it had probably been just as daunting to him to risk kissing her. She had been the one to deepen the kiss; she had been the one to pull him closer. She had known he wasn't reacting sensibly anymore, but she had encouraged him anyway. He was probably horridly confused right now and certain that she had rejected him.

She could feel the old cloak dragging behind her like tin cans behind a wedding car as she darted through the door and started down the stairs. With any luck, she could catch him and not let him go until he had calmed down enough to listen to her. Though God only knew what she could say to make things right.

"Severus, wait!" she called, taking the steps two at a time. She was so close!

She understood what the resistance was the moment she felt it – the cloak and her shoes still caught in the doorway, the thin rope of enchanted hair wound securely round her ankle like the tether on a surfboard. At a less precarious moment, she might have felt pride in her impromptu spellwork when her forward momentum did not snap the thread. As it was, she was too busy trying to stop herself from falling.


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you so much for all the encouragement and reviews!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>

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><p>Emma teetered for a moment, arms flailing hopelessly, before her momentum carried her forwards. She threw her hands out in an effort to save herself and hissed in pain when her palms and knees connected with the hard, cold ground. She didn't even need to glance upwards to know that the horrid sensation of falling had carried her down the stairs and back to the bleak, snowy emptiness of the odd and apparently eternal winter.<p>

She blinked blearily at the dark bundle of cloth beside her, feeing a momentary stab of pride as she distantly noted the charm on her possessions had held, dragging them along with her through time and space to this chilly nowhere. She might have skinned her knees, but at least she had her shoes and her warm clothing with her. Pride receded slightly with the recollection that it had been that very binding spell that had caused her to stumble in the first place. Or had that been Severus, had he been the one to push her away?

She swallowed convulsively, trying to shake off the giddy nausea.

_Severus._

She had left him behind, their sudden distance unresolved. She climbed shakily to her feet, brushing the snow from her clothes before reaching for her shoes. She needed to find a way to make things right.

-x-

Emma set off at a slight jog the moment the world had stopped spinning. Careful not to slip on the light covering of snow, she paused only to fasten the cloak more securely as she sped down the street.

This felt _right_.

For the first time since she had pulled the bed curtains aside in the Slytherin dormitory, she was finally taking things into her own hands. She had no idea who, or even what, was hidden behind that thick wall of hedge growth on the playing field, but if there was even the slightest chance it would either take her to Severus – hopefully a Severus who had forgiven her – or end her journeys to this nightmare world of continual snow and half-light, she would grasp it with both hands.

It felt like she had finally solved the puzzle. It was like being caught in a strategy game where each level had to be solved before she could move on to the next. Once she had found out how to escape this northern Narnia, she would hopefully find her way back to Severus and be allowed to stay with him until she had solved that particular riddle as well: not just how to have him forgive her, but how to make him happy again. Hopefully for a long time.

He just had aged so quickly. Not physically, though there was no denying he had grown into a captivating adult, but he seemed to have aged inside, as if his youth had been stripped away by whatever had befallen him in the few years they had been parted. He had the look of someone who had seen and felt too much, his eyes haunted.

It made his reaction to her all the more puzzling. His kisses had been unexpected, certainly, but she would have been lying to herself to suggest that they had been unwelcome, even though she had known it would be foolish to encourage him. But how they had gone from such a heated embrace to him almost running from her was beyond her. Once again, she had the feeling that far more had transpired between them than she had been aware of. She wanted to be angry with him. Hell, she _was_ angry with him, but it did nothing to ease the feeling that she needed to be by his side.

-x-

She was out of breath by the time she reached the Social Club, the cold air burning in her lungs. She paused at the edge of the Rec to get her breath back, her fingers pressing into the stitch that had started to needle fiercely at her side. Glancing up, she froze.

There was someone ahead of her, away across the field towards the hedge – figure in a dark green cloak. She watched in silent fascination as the figure edged towards the sprawling laurel and hawthorns. Emma knew she should hide, but the fascination of seeing her past self made it impossible for her to think straight. Seeing herself as others must see her.

Other-Emma had taken her hood down, and Emma watched as the wind tumbled her hair around in a riotous display of curls. Honestly, did her hair _really_ look like that from the back? As she watched the wind carried a voice to her.

"_Hello?"_

It was her own cry from earlier, uttered moments before the spell had carried her away. Feeling spellbound herself, she watched as the cloaked figure flickered and disappeared.

Her heart was thudding in her chest. Terrible things had happened to witches or wizards who had encountered themselves from different times. Although she had spoken to Severus of the perils of time travel, she hadn't truly comprehended how much danger she must have been in. How many times had she trodden this snowy path on this one day? How many times had she just missed herself in the Hogwarts dormitory? To have been caught up in time loops like this and having never once come face to face with one of her other selves was nothing short of miraculous.

It _had_ to be the spell. Whatever magic she was caught in, this must have been one of the properties, that she could travel through time without fear of herself. When Severus had suggested that he had called her to him, she had dismissed the idea, but now she wasn't so sure. What if he had learnt of another aspect of the spell? What if he had worked out what it was, had been about to tell her until, well, until they got distracted. Until she had hurt him.

A sudden childlike wail snapped her attention back to the moment, and she started across the field towards the hedgerow. The wind dropped long enough for her to clearly hear sniffling sobs. She moved to the nearest gap and attempted to peer through the thick tangle of foliage. The branches in front of her moved suddenly, writhing and lengthening in a way that had nothing to do with the buffeting wind, and she stepped back in alarm. As she watched, they twisted and grew, closing the narrow gap.

_Magic._

She was momentarily nonplussed. She was certain Severus had told her that other than himself, his mother and Lily Evans, there were no other witches or wizards for miles around. The chance of her stumbling over an unknown magical child in the middle of a snowstorm seemed unlikely, even given her recent experiences with time magic. But who, then, could this be?

She slipped her wand out of her pocket and briefly wished she could use a swift _Diffindo_ on the tangled hedge, but a cutting curse could well harm the child behind the leaves if she should misjudge the strength needed.

"Hello?" she called instead. "Can you hear me?"

There was no reply, but the tangled branches abruptly ceased their strange movement before beginning again in a frenzy of leaves and thorns. It had to be magic; there was no other explanation for it. A child's uncontrolled magic. But Severus had told her that—

_Dear God, it couldn't be. _

_Could it?_

"Severus?" she called again, feeling utterly foolish. "Severus, is that you?"

There was a long silence during which even the wind seemed to die away. Eventually a small voice answered her, "I'm stuck." The child's voice was at once tremulous and defiant. It was him. Emma stared blankly at the twisting branches, completely at a loss. How could that possibly be him? She had never travelled backwards in time before, leastways not that she could remember, yet here she was, at least ten years before their original encounter.

Feeling slightly surreal, she raised her voice above the wind once more. "My name's Emma, Severus. I've come to help you. Can you see a way out?"

"The leaves won't let me through," he explained. Emma could imagine the look of contempt on his face at having to clarify such an obvious fact. Perhaps it had been a silly question.

"It's magic, Severus," she called. "You somehow made the leaves move, so theoretically, you should be able to make them stop."

There was a long silence as the branches continued to twist. One snaked uncomfortably close to her face, forcing her to step backwards, and Emma conceded that, once again, she had probably said something slightly inane.

She carefully poked her wand through the leaves, turning her face to angle it away from the whipping leaves. "Can you see the stick, Severus?" She took the answering sniff to be a confirmation. "It's a magical wand. I want you to touch it with your fingertips and imagine the hedge stopping moving. I want you to tell it firmly in your head to let you free, can you do that?"

She felt her wand twitch as fingers grabbed the other end. There was a good chance the Trace would kick in, but hopefully her presence would hide any infantile magic from the Ministry. "Very good," she praised the dense foliage, feeling terribly patronising. She really doubted she had any experience with young children or that she was making a particularly sterling effort. Honestly, meeting a baby Severus was going to make what had just occurred in his bed a hundred times more complicated.

"Now, I want you to keep that picture in your mind and say '_Finite Incantatem_' as clearly as you can. I'll say it with you. Are you ready?"

They spoke the words together, and Emma felt her magic rise up to join that of the child beyond her reach. The branches stopped their awful scrabbling, content now to simply twist about in the dictates of the wind. A small figure freed itself from the branches by her feet, its face both tearful and speculative.

He was three, maybe four – old enough to be walking and talking, but not old enough to be in school. Certainly not old enough to be on his own so far from home, Emma judged. He was small and skinny with unkempt hair and clothes even shabbier than the ones he had owned as a teenager. His eyes were the same though, deep and black and filled with that awful combination of hope and mistrust all at once. _Oh, Severus_.

She searched in her bag and handed him a handkerchief. He took it solemnly and held it tightly until she took it back off him and wiped at his face. He really was rather snotty. She held the tissue to his nose and told him to blow. The result was rather impressive, especially considering his nose had yet to lose it childish roundness. She left him keep the tissue.

"Where are your mummy and daddy?" When that didn't yield a response, she tried again. "What were you doing in the bushes?"

"I wanted to play hide-and-seek, but it was time to go home. I hid, but he found me, and I wanted to stay. The hedge pushed him away. It was funny. . ."

"But then it got scary?" She concluded.

He nodded. He hadn't been a very attractive child, she noted, but he really had the most beautiful eyes. They almost seemed to fill his face. She pulled herself from her musings when she realised that he was shivering. He wasn't even in a proper coat.

She pulled the cloak from around her shoulders and wrapped it round him adding several more layers of Warming Charms. He watched her carefully.

"Are you a witch?"

"Yes I am," she answered truthfully.

"Are you going to eat me?" he pressed. To his credit, he looked more interested than frightened. Apparently he had gotten over his shock with the hedge.

Emma contemplated an impromptu lecture on the benefits of magic and Severus' own status as a wizard but reasoned that it really wasn't her place. "I'm going to take you home to your parents." There the lecture might come in handy.

She held out her hand, and he took it casually enough. His fingers were icy cold, and Emma wondered just how long he had been left outside in the snow. From what she had gathered, he had either frightened or angered his father with a childish display of magic and been left behind. She had to shorten her steps for him to keep up, and he kept treading on the trailing hem of the cloak. They were less than half way across the field when he started to flag.

She lifted him easily, grateful when he automatically wrapped his small form around hers. He had the sweet, sour smell of neglect and she whispered several Cleansing Charms over him as well as a slight Lightening Spell. How hard could it be to keep a child clean? He clung to her, his ratty hair blowing against her face as they moved slowly forwards across the uneven ground towards the towpath. The edges of the canal had iced over, and the ducks were nowhere to be seen as Emma cautiously crept along, the boy in her arms apparently asleep.

She focussed all of her efforts on simply moving safely along the frosty towpath, conscious of the freezing body of water running at her side. It wouldn't do to dwell on the strange situation she had found herself in, moving to confront the parents of a boy she wasn't supposed to have met yet – parents that might well remember her in the future. She might be about to change her own timeline, but she could hardly make the exhausted child walk home on his own. Besides, she admitted, there was a good chance that she might burst with indignation if she didn't get to tell someone off for the state the poor boy was in.

Eventually she turned off the path and headed up the back alley towards the Snape house, hoping that the high yard walls would keep away most of the wind. She was rosy cheeked and breathing heavily from having carried Severus all the way home, despite the Featherlight Charm, but her hands were swiftly becoming icy in the sharp wind.

". . .unnatural. I couldn't stand to be near him."

They had just ducked down the side alley to reach the main street when the raised voices reached them. Emma froze, glancing at the still sleeping child in her arms. He stirred slightly, his sleeping face puckering into a frown.

"You knew this could happen," came the shrill retort.

"But he was meant to be my boy." The man's voice was thick with anger and sadness. "Now he's going to be a freak for the rest of his life!"

Severus began to cry fitfully as the voices crescendoed. Emma rocked him gently as a door slammed and the shouting ended. "Hush, darling," she soothed. "We're almost there." He began to struggle in her grasp, but she held him firmly, peering round the corner at the street at Mr Snape's receding figure, glad that he hadn't ducked down the side alley and found them there. Once he had turned towards the canal, she hurried to the front door and balanced the child on her hip to allow her to knock.

The door opened with alarming speed and Severus was pulled from her arms before she had time to explain herself. He began to cry properly then and Mrs Snape began to unclasp the cloak and chafe his hands, alternating between attempting to sooth him and scolding his for the fright he had given his parents.

"He has magic," Emma imparted, nearly flinching as Mrs Snape's eyes finally flew to her face. "He needs to know his heritage."

"He never showed any signs before now," the older woman informed her sadly, shaking out the old cloak. "Here," she made to pass it back. "I'm very grateful to you for bringing my son back but I can't invite you in. This is a Muggle neighbourhood."

Emma stood back, shocked. "Keep it," she waved the cloak away. "It was only borrowed. Tell Severus—" but the door was already closing, leaving Emma stood in angry confusion on the street.

She wandered back down the street in the vague direction of the canal, hoping for one last glance of the dirty water before she left. How very odd her life had become. She had always moved forward through time until this point. Skipping so far back into Severus' past effectively destroyed all of the patterns she had been following in her head. The only constant seemed to be Severus' distress, but even that didn't hold quite true. The first time they had met he had simply been bored at home during the holidays, hadn't he? And last time he had been recently bereaved, but didn't seem to be suffering hugely because of it.

Remembering that Mrs Snape had died a very sad, lonely sort of death made Emma instantly contrite about her less than charitable thoughts towards the woman. She had only had the briefest glimpses into her world, after all; it wasn't really for her to judge her actions, even if they seemed bizarre, or even, when it came to Severus, slightly callous.

She reached the tow path and was surprised to find a coal barge making its way under the bridge. She'd never seen any traffic on the canal before, unless one counted the ducks, and she watched with interest as it cleared the low bridge. When was it that Britain's waterways had stopped being used regularly for heavy freight? It was connected to the growth of motorways and the decline of the rail industry, but she was a little hazy on the details. Which, though frustrating, didn't surprise her much. Had she forgotten, or was it something she had never known?

She ducked under the bridge to escape the ever present wind, her hands firmly tucked inside her pockets. There was a disgruntled quack, and she realised she hadn't been the only one seeking to escape the cold: a number of the straggly ducks had chosen to bed down under the arch. One had untucked its head from under its wing and was giving her an appraising look, as if wondering whether she were enough of a threat to warrant moving. After a moment, it tucked itself away again, and Emma felt as if she had been dismissed.

As if on cue, the darkness began to rise up around her, and she pulled her hands free to steady herself. The sensation was as dizzying and unpleasant as ever, but this time Emma welcomed it.

"Yes," she whispered into the darkness. "Take me to him."


	19. Chapter 19

With thanks to **heartmom88** and **ofankoma**.

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><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>

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><p>The spell discarded her in a pleasant little sitting room with beautiful soft tapestries adorning the warm sandstone walls. Emma looked around in interest; she was certain she was in Hogwarts, but it was a suite of rooms she did not recognise. Surely Severus would be there . . . was she perhaps back in his school years? She hadn't thought she could travel back through his timeline but her encounter with his infant self had disproved that theory.<p>

The door opposite her opened and she caught a glimpse of a very familiar, portrait lined room just beyond. Her attention however was caught by the sight of the man who now stood in the doorway, his body draped in heavy black robes, a look of burning hope on his face.

"Emma?" he whispered, closing the door firmly behind him. "You came."

He moved forwards into the light and Emma suddenly had to fight the urge to step backwards in shock.

He was. . .old.

She stood very still as he came towards her, approaching her quietly as one might an injured animal, while she studied his changed visage. He wasn't old, she amended; older certainly, all traces of boyishness having vanished from his frame, but he was still blade thin and graceful in his movements. He was ten, maybe twenty, years older than her, though it was never easy to judge with wizards. Still, it was a frightening thing indeed that so much time could have raced away while she had been gone.

Watching him now she noticed he had the tired, defeated look of one who has been ill or struggling under a burden for a long time. It was a look she recognised, but she had no idea from where.

It was difficult to meet his eyes. They were so very dark, haunted by something, but hopeful at the same time and painful to look into. As she watched the hope began to recede.

Her heart twisted in her chest and she closed the space between them, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "Oh, Severus!" she breathed. "What's happened?"

He didn't speak but wrapped his arms around her in response and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.

"Emma," he sighed. The whisper of his breath against her ear caused her to shiver.

-x-

She was uncertain how long they stood like that, caught in each other's arms, his face buried in her hair. It could have been hours or just mere moments. Either way, it seemed far too soon when he finally pulled away.

"Emma," he murmured. "I'm so sorry. When you vanished I was certain you were gone for good and I-"

She cut him off. "I don't think either of us were thinking clearly. I'm sorry if I hurt you, things just moved a bit too fast..." She trailed off when she saw the considering look on his face, the frown now etched deep into his skin. It was bizarre, he looked so different from the young man she had only recently left, but at the same time he seemed so overwhelmingly familiar.

"I think we're talking at cross purposes," he informed her lightly, leading her across to the low sofa in front of the empty fireplace. "When did you last see me? The night of the summer storm?"

Well, that was certainly one way to describe what had happened.

Emma nodded. "Well, not quite. That was the oldest I've seen you before now. I saw you once more in between though; back when you were a little boy, at Spinners Rec."

"I have no recollection of that," he admitted, carefully arranging his robes before sitting down beside her. "It would seem our timelines are diverging," he mused. "I have seen you once since then." He looked away, "I'm afraid I behaved rather badly."

Emma slipped her hand back into his. "Whatever it was, you're forgiven," she assured him.

"You don't know what I said to you yet," he countered softly. "You have to understand, after that summer I was... confused about you, for the longest time. When you reappeared I took the opportunity to vent all that frustration upon you. I was under a lot of stress at the time and I didn't give you the chance to defend yourself. I just... lashed out."

Emma reached up and caught his chin in her other hand, turning his face gently until his eyes finally met hers. "You're forgiven," she repeated.

She let her hand rest under his chin a moment longer as she searched his face for the tiny changes that marked the years lost between them. There were lines in the corners of his eyes now. She hoped they were from laughter but she had a horrible certainty that this was unlikely to be the case. There was a permanent crease between his eyebrows and tight lines around his mouth. She raised her eyes back to his to find that he too was cataloguing her features and felt a moment's unease. What if he had remembered her to be better than she really was? If he had recalled her to be prettier or shapelier? She found she couldn't bear to disappoint him, not now.

Then his eyes dropped to her lips and for a moment all thought ceased.

She wondered what it would be like to have him kiss her now. Would his kisses still be tentative how that he was so clearly a man? Would they still start that delicious tingle deep inside her belly and cause her blood to rush, flushing her cheeks and chest with warmth? She found herself licking her lips softly in silent anticipation.

The moment stretched onwards until finally, deliberately, Severus looked away.

Emma caught her lower lip between her teeth and blinked rapidly, wondering what had just happened and confused by her own reaction. She gripped his hand tightly, willing him to stay with her, not to disappear inside his cold shields as she searched for less dangerous ground.

"You said you called me, before. Did you mean it?"

He met her gaze levelly. "I'm not certain you want to know just yet. What little I have worked out about this spell indicates that its parameters are met by fulfilling certain criteria. You're not knowing seems to be a part of it. There is a chance that too much information could cause you to release yourself from the spell."

Emma felt a moment's thrill at his words; that he had worked out so much, that she might be finally able to understand what had trapped her in these strange, shifting loops of time. The enticement of knowledge fell away though the moment she understood his warning.

"Then don't tell me," she announced. It hadn't even been a conscious decision.

"Are you sure?" he pressed. "It could well be all you need to get back home."

She twisted her fingers until they were entwined safely with his. "I am home," she smiled.

His eyes burned so brightly that this time she was the one who had to look away.

-x-

"You won't be caught up in the spell much longer," he told her gently. "Things are coming to a close." They were more comfortably arranged on the sofa, his arm around her, his fingers in her hair. Her arms were round his waist, the fingers of her right hand toying with the myriad buttons of his frock coat. Her fingers stilled.

"You know what this spell is, don't you?" she asked quietly.

"I have heard references to something similar," he admitted. "But this is different somehow. None of those sources mentioned time loops and they never - they never mentioned amnesia."

"Something must have gone wrong," she sighed. "I just wish I knew why I chose to throw myself through time like this with nothing but my wand and a bottomless evening bag full of riddles."

"I had thought you did it to save a man's life," Severus murmured. "But that man was saved a couple of years ago. It doesn't make sense that you would still be here, but I am so very glad that you are." He pressed a brief kiss to the top of her head and Emma looked up at his tired, defeated face, a sudden chill creeping along her spine. "I want you to know that I have treasured our somewhat unconventional friendship over the years. I just wanted to let you know that before you go again. I - I'll be forever grateful that I had this chance to tell you."

Tears filled her eyes so suddenly that she didn't have a chance to blink them back before they spilled out over her cheeks. "Don't talk like that," she whispered. "Don't ever suggest that I might not come back. I'm staying here, with you."

He gestured to the lamps that had lit themselves only minutes before. "It's getting late. Soon it will be time for you to go."

"But I don't have to go anywhere," she insisted. "As long as you hold onto me then the spell can't take me,"

"Don't be silly, Emma," he rebuked, softly. "I can't hold you all night long."

Emma felt herself flush before she had even spoken, "I don't see why not."

In the silence that followed she risked a glance up at his face. It was impossible to put into words what she saw there but it gave her the courage to twist until she was facing him fully, her face just inches from his. There was such awful hope written there that it made her shiver.

Cautiously she raised her hand, like before, this time softly tracing his familiar features; the sharp edges of his cheekbones, his high forehead, even the severe slash of his nose. He sat utterly motionless beneath her ministrations but she was relieved that he did not try to pull away either; certain that all her courage would have deserted her if he had.

Her fingertips brushed against his lips and she recalled just how soft they had felt against her own when she felt the tiniest answering tremor run through him. Any remaining doubts vanished in that moment and she raised her lips to his.

For a few long moments he returned her kiss before gently pulling away with a sigh.

"Emma," he breathed. "You can't want this. I'm an old man now."

"You're not!" she protested. "And I do! I always have, I think. I was wrong to push you away before, I know that now. . ." She kissed him again, more forcibly this time, and felt a brief triumph as his reticence melted away and he pulled her closer, almost onto his lap. Hey were both breathing heavily when he pulled away for a second time.

"Please, Emma, don't push me," he murmured. "I'm not thinking straight. Please don't ask me for something I may not be able to refuse you."

A small, frustrated noise escaped from her throat. "Then stop thinking," she whispered, moving to kiss him again. He evaded her, burying his face against her neck instead, his arms still tight around her.

"This isn't what you want, not really. When you get back home you'll regret this."

Emma sat back a little, and struggled to find the words to reassure him. "I don't know why I'm here," she admitted. "Maybe I never will for sure. But I think perhaps I bound myself to you. Because I _want_ to be here with you. And if I decided to do that then I can also decide to do this. Maybe this is what needs to happen for me to stay. Because I can't bear to leave you again."

"But you must. You and I both know that time won't let you stay here like that."

"Then I will find a way to make it," she insisted, dashing the sudden tears from her eyes. "I _love_ you."

Severus closed his eyes. "Emma," he sighed.

"You can't make me unsay it," she whispered. "You can't make it not be true."

"I wouldn't have the strength to make you, even if I could," he confessed.

-x-

His room was beautifully appointed, the furniture old but lovingly maintained, every line graceful and considered. There was a large bed, comfortable chairs, side tables and an ornate fireplace, Emma noticed, but no personal touches. There was no desk stacked haphazardly with papers, no shelves overflowing with books. The room was beautiful but oddly impersonal, like a hotel room, or as if Severus was only staying there temporarily until the real owner returned.

She toed off her shoes and socks and laid her jacket carefully over the foot of the bed. After a moments hesitation she undid her jeans, sliding them self consciously down her legs and folding them neatly to join her jacket before sliding under the blankets. She wondered briefly if Severus still wore night shirts, but if he did it seemed she was not destined to find out. He removed his outer clothes before joining her under the covers, still dressed in his shirt and trousers. Emma was oddly moved when she noted the symmetry between this night and the other night, back in Spinners End. This time, however, it was her asking if she might stay.

At first he made no move to touch her, just watched her silently with those fathomless black eyes, and for one dreadful moment she was certain that this time it was she who had misread the situation, that she had exaggerated his attraction to her. But then he stretched out his hand to her and she slid towards him, sinking eagerly into his embrace.

It was Emma that kissed him this time. Emma who wound her arms around him and pulled him close. He seemed content to simply hold her, his hands resting lightly on her waist, occasionally stroking softly down across her hip and back again, while his tongue began a similarly gentle, restrained exploration of her mouth.

It was a delicious sensation and her stomach seemed to contract with longing each time his fingers moved across her skin. At first she was content to simply lie there, caught in his arms, their bodies pressed close as they kissed. He held her as if she was something delicate and infinitely precious, every touch carefully measured and precise, yet soon the more his kisses enflamed her, the more his continued reticence frustrated her. She began to explore what little of him she could reach, limited as she was by his embrace. She ran her hands long his arms and across his chest, still lean and lightly muscled beneath the skin, pressing herself against him all the while, eager for more contact.

"Emma." She wasn't sure if he meant it as a question or a caution but she continued to twist against him, her fingers seeking new purchase against his skin. "Emma," he repeated softly. "This is enough."

"It isn't," she insisted before blushing at husky sound of her own voice. Unable to meet his gaze she buried her face against his, her lips brushing his ear as she sought the courage to explain her desires. "I want all of you."

He became very still. She lay there, revelling in the feel of his warmth and his weight against her. Eventually he pushed himself up to look down at her, one hand coming up to cup her face, his long fingers brushing against her skin with infinite care, his eyes almost liquid.

"You're sure?" She could only nod. He stroked her cheek, her brow, then up into the ridiculous tangle of her hair. Remembering her windswept appearance she felt a moment's shyness; her eyes red from crying, her messy tumble of curls.

All thought was swept aside as he lowered his head to brush his lips against hers. This time he took control of the kiss, making it deeper and more urgent then before. His reticence gone, replaced instead by a driving need. She tangled her fingers in his hair pulling him even closer and shifted her legs until he was trapped in the cradle of her hips.

When his hands began their cautious exploration of her still clothed body she could only moan her encouragement, not wanting to break this drugging kiss even for a heartbeat. Still deferential, his long fingers ghosting over her waist, her face, her hips. When his hand finally moved to claim the soft swell of her breast she arched against him, wanting him to know just how much she needed his touch.

Some how she knew that this – _dear God, this_ – was why she had chosen to fall through time. This man, with his sullen silences and his dark, searching eyes, was the home she had been searching for.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

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><p>Later, lying in a tangle of sheets and limbs, Emma knew what it was to be entirely content.<p>

There was a warm sort of tiredness creeping along her limbs and all her muscles seemed to ache gently, in the sweetest way. It appeared that nothing could puncture this perfect moment of stillness that seemed to exist for just the two of them. Neither of them spoke, but the silence itself was part of the magic, wrapping itself around them like a blanket, cocooning them away from the rest of the world.

It was easy for Emma to suppress the questions that kept bubbling to the surface of her mind; unwilling to do or say anything that could fracture the delicate bubble that held them. She could ignore the strange, disturbing tattoo on his forearm and simply chose to forget Severus' belief that the spell soon would end. Nothing mattered save that the two of them were finally together.

Severus was likewise silent and seemed either unwilling or unable to stop touching her; the fingers of one hand toying with the tangle of her curls, the other drawing mindless patterns across the skin of her stomach, leaving tingles where they passed. His skin on hers, there was no chance of the spell stealing her away. Which was just as well, Emma mused; there was no where in the world where she would rather be.

She had no idea how long she lay there, drifting serenely in and out of sleep, moving only to stroke or kiss the body pressed warm against hers. As such it came as something of a shock when she woke to find him sitting fully dressed on the edge of the bed.

Searching his face she realised some of the tightness had returned to his eyes.

"You should get dressed," he informed her gently.

She scrabbled upright. "What? What's wrong?"

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Nothing's wrong, Emma," he reassured her. "I'm about to be called away and I don't know how long I'll be gone," he explained. "You might be gone by the time I get back."

She lay back against the pillow, suddenly forlorn. "Can I come with you?"

"You know you can't," he whispered. "The spell; it wouldn't be safe."

"The spell," she echoed, sadly. The one thing that threatened every moment she spent with Severus, yet the same thing that carried her to him time and again. The spell that, she admitted to herself, she was still desperate to understand. "I'll stay," she conceded unhappily. "Can I use the shower?"

"You can use whatever you want as long as you don't go beyond the sitting room door," he offered. "But are you sure you want to risk it?"

"It wouldn't be a risk if you stayed with me," she muttered resentfully. Realising what she had just said she glanced up to find that his eyes had become almost liquid in their intensity.

"Do you really mean that?" he wondered softly.

She ducked her head, suddenly shy. "That depends," she sat back up, carefully arranging the sheet as she moved. "Would it be enough to make you stay?"

His long fingers caught her chin, gently lifting until her eyes met his once more. Leaning in he captured her lips in the lightest of kisses. Emma let go of the sheet to wrap her arms around him and pull him close.

_Nothing mattered but thi-_

There was a thunderous volley of knocks at a door on the floor below and he pulled away from her with a groan. "I believe that's my queue," he muttered, his face becoming serious once more. "Emma, if I don't - that is, if you go, I just wanted to - I need to-"

"Just go," she told him, smiling. "I'll be here when you get back."

And somehow she knew she would.

-x-

Emma took her time in the shower. She could still feel the ghost of his touch upon her skin and as such felt no fear that the darkness would whisk her away.

She had emptied her meagre toiletries from out of the pink bag and was delighting in grooming herself properly, not just making do with cleansing spells and borrowed shampoo. Uncapping her own shampoo for the first time she took a deep sniff of the expensive looking product.

The sudden wave of nostalgia was so strong that it felt like a physical blow. She sniffed again, tears of homesickness and longing filling her eyes. The bottle smelt like home. Not some idealistic, far off place but an every day ordinary sort of homeliness built of routine and familiarity. She took another sniff but already the impact had lessened, the scent memory beginning to fade. One final sniff and the shampoo simply smelt like shampoo, like citrus and elderflower.

Cautiously she began to lather her hair. No further memories assaulted her but the bubble that had held her for the last few hours had popped. Her _real_ life was out there somewhere. Somewhere there was a girl who looked like her and smelled like her shampoo and messed around with dangerous spells. That girl probably had parents who loved her, friends who missed her and an entire life, not just a bizarre spiralling existence focussed on one man.

She rinsed her hair and reached for the conditioner, working it into the very tips of her hair. Did she have a duty to return to her old life? At first it had been all she had wanted; to escape this place of shifting time and incomplete memories and to return to the place she belonged. Yet at some point that place had come to mean Severus. And hadn't she chosen to be with Severus in the first place? Wasn't that what this spell was about?

Emma gave her hair a final rinse before stepping from the shower and drying herself with her wand. After a moments deliberation she picked up her discarded clothes from the floor and hit them with several cleansing and freshening charms; until she was more certain in her own mind then she found herself oddly reluctant to wear anything that the other her had packed inside the odd pink bag. She unceremoniously stuffed her cosmetics back inside, noting as she did the envelope bearing the irritatingly vague direction "Prof S" on the front. That was another riddle that needed solving.

Returning to the bedroom she flushed to notice that the bed had been remade while she'd been dressing. Hogwarts; a History had made no mention of House Elves but she could recognise their handiwork in the unobtrusively tidied room. She sat back against the pillows of the neatly made bed, the wonderful sensation of being clean and safe mingling with the growing doubts that gnawed at her insides.

There was nothing else for it; she needed to talk to Severus.

-x-

She must have dozed off because the click of a door suddenly roused her and there he was, pulling her close. "You're still here," he marvelled, reaching down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

She returned his kiss with enthusiasm, reaching up to pull him further down. He laughed softly at her eagerness and she felt her heart lift. She wasn't sure she had ever heard him laugh quite like that before; softly and free from bitterness or irony. He submitted briefly to her, letting himself be pulled more deeply into her embrace before extracting himself from her grasp. "Emma."

"I'm still here," she murmured, keeping her fingers locked with his. "And I don't ever have to leave. Just don't let go of me."

And that was the problem; now he was back beside her there was no way that she could choose to leave. Whatever it was that was waiting for her outside of the spell could continue to wait a little longer.

-x-

It was Severus that finally broke the kiss, sighing sadly as he pulled away.

"You know you won't be caught in this spell forever, don't you?" he murmured. "That eventually you'll escape it?"

"Yes," she whispered, saddened that once more reality had intruded, bringing doubt and uncertainty with it. Saddened, and slightly hurt that he had been the one to remind her.

"You'll be your own person again," he pressed. "You won't be reliant on anyone anymore. You'll be free." His voice held such strange longing that she looked up sharply, propping herself up onto her elbows to better see his face. What she saw there finally convinced her to learn the truth.

"Tell me about the spell," she demanded, aware that she might be risking this new and wonderful understanding between them but unable to carry on in ignorance any longer, not when comprehension seemed so close. "Severus, tell me what you know."

He held her gaze for the longest moment, his face impassive. Something seemed to suddenly give way inside him and he rose from the bed in a swift, graceful movement and turned to sit across the room from her in one of the graceful oak-backed chairs. Emma wondered if perhaps she should move towards him but, as if sensing her confusion, he held up a hand to still her.

"You are right," he mused, each word slow and deliberate. "The time has come."

Emma sat up against the pillows and waited for him to continue. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully.

"I figured out long again that you came when I needed you," he began. "Not when I wanted to see you, you understand, though you were never unwelcome. I could long for you for years and you wouldn't appear. But then, when I least expected any comfort from any side, suddenly there you were.

"I didn't know who you were or why you were caught in such a spell. You just arrived when I needed to see you and left before anyone else arrived who might question your presence. My parents didn't count; they just wanted to be rid of you. James Potter was too embarrassed to speak of you again and I think the same was true for Lily."

"And Ollivander, what of him?" she interrupted, earning herself an irritated glance. She pressed on undeterred. "He saw my wand! He knew I wasn't from this time."

"He functions so far outside the realm of normal magic that I think that somehow he doesn't quite count either. I don't imagine he's told anybody. Actually," he admitted, "I asked him to inform me the moment your wand was purchased and he refused on the spot. Apparently wands are meant for those they choose, not those that take an interest."

Emma found it easy to imagine the odd, paled eyed wizard proclaiming something of that nature. "Maybe I should speak to him again, ask him if he's sold my wand yet. Surely he wouldn't turn me down?"

"You wouldn't find him. He's retired from wand making for the foreseeable future."

"So there's nothing you can tell me?" she sighed.

"There is _something_," he admitted. "I don't know if it's pertinent or not but there's been a lot of fuss in the press recently about a rather archaic piece of magic; a spell that in theory allows the caster to travel back to one moment in another's life without upsetting the surrounding timelines. To make the tiniest change for an individual that doesn't affect history as a whole."

"That doesn't really sound like what's happening to me, does it? I keep skittering all over the place."

"Well, the spell was abandoned hundreds of years ago because it was so difficult to get right. Most of those who attempted it had no results at all." Something in his voice told her she didn't want to ask what had happened to the few that had achieved results.

She turned the idea over in her mind. It was possible, she supposed, that her other self had learnt of the spell in the same way. Maybe other-Emma was out there at this moment, fascinated with something she had read as she ate her breakfast, already plotting away. Possibly deadly archaic spells and croissants. "Why is it being discussed now?"

Severus paused. "Due to the current political situation there are those that would like to amend the recent past."

"I wonder if anyone's succeeded." Something flickered in the edge of her vision, she looked up sharply, fearing the return of the shadows but nothing was there. Turning back to Snape she realised she had missed his answer.

"..wouldn't be here if they had." He wasn't looking at her anymore, his attention focussed on the end of the bed. "The most vocal in their attempts have disappeared. I do not believe they were successful."

"Do you really think it could have anything to do with me? That I've somehow managed to cast an impossible spell and gotten myself lost in the process?" Was that something that she would do? It sounded extraordinarily risky, especially as she still had no idea why she would have why she would have attempted such a thing in the first place, even if she were capable of it. "Why would it take away my memories?"

"That I don't know."

She stared at him glumly. None of it was very helpful and none of it had sparked the slightest flicker of recognition inside her. Sighing, she reached for the beaded bag and worked the zip loose. Perhaps he could be more helpful regarding the odd potions list. "What's this forgotten spell called then?"

Another odd flicker caught her attention and Emma felt suddenly cold. The darkness was close by; close enough for her to sense it. Frantically she turned to Severus to ask him not to tell her anything else; to beg him to return to her side and hold her tightly until the darkness passed, but she was too late. His rich, careful tones carried clearly across the room towards her.

"It's called _Iustitiae Momento_; a moment of justice."

And there it was. _There_ was the flash of insight and the sense of dread, bringing with it the swiftly rising spell.

Its dark tendrils began to coil around her as she threw herself across the bed in an attempt to reach Severus in time; her arms outstretched, the silly pink bag still in her grasp. Severus, the one thing that could keep her from being swept away, sat still and calm in his chair, the same sad smile that she had seen all morning twisting the corners of his mouth. He made no move towards her and she understood what all his warnings had been about. He had expected this moment. No - he had been _waiting_ for this moment.

He wasn't going to stop her from leaving.

Faced by such a sudden and unexpected betrayal Emma stopped struggling against the spell, falling back instead into that awful, swirling dark. It gripped her tightly and she could feel herself being dragged away, twisting her this way and that. Her eyesight dimmed and the strange roaring, white noise of passing time filled her ears.

This time it was different. This time, in that split second before she lost her self, she thought she had heard a voice. She thought she heard someone calling out a goodbye.

-x-

_Goodbye._

-x-

As the darkness whirled her round and around she could feel the wonderful peace that had filled the last few hours being shaken free, and with it the precious stillness that had held her close. In their place came darker thoughts, memories of everything she had ignored in order to preserve the fragile perfection of her time with Severus.

"_You know you won't be caught in this spell forever, don't you?...__I want you to know that I have treasured our somewhat unconventional friendship over the years... I just wanted to let you know that before you go... I - I'll be forever grateful that I had this chance to tell you...__Emma, if I don't - that is, if you go, I just wanted to - I need to-"_

_That sad smile; the look of resignation; the exhaustion of a man carrying a heavy burden._

He didn't expect her to come back.

-x-

She bit back a cry as her knees impacted with unforgiving tarmac, the momentum carrying her harshly to the floor. She brushed her sleeve against her face, dashing away the tears that had sprung unbidden to her eyes. He was gone. She wanted nothing more than to curl up where she had fallen and cry.

Yet again something terrible had happened, of that there could be no doubt. The Severus she knew could be sullen and caustic but he didn't give up. The man she had just left had seen the end was in sight for both of them, but _what_ _end_?

Emma wiped her eyes again, harder this time, rubbing the fabric of her jacket against her face until it stung.

She scrambled to her feet and staggered to the pavement, common sense alone persuading her that she should at least get off the road. She looked around blearily and gave a little cry of triumph.

She was back at Spinners End!

She stumbled forward, heading towards the end of the dingy row, to the little house with the black door, her heart close to bursting with sudden, desperate hope. Surely this awful feeling of icy dread was nothing more than the spell at work? This was just another snowy day or another dark dormitory. No matter how awful it seemed now it would take her back to _him_. It had to.

The street was very quiet, she realised. No cars were parked to the side and she was the only person on the pavement.

_Must just be early_, she decided, ignoring the faint voice in her head that whispered again and again that something was wrong. She pushed her doubts aside and jogged the final few feet, desperate to find Severus.

Suddenly, she was stood in front of the house. She stood still, holding her side as she caught her breath. It looked tired and neglected; she wondered if it had always been so shabby looking. She raised her hand to knock, noticing the small white posted pasted to the door.

_Odd, this wasn't the sort of place that would attract fly posting_, she thought. _It was too far from the town centre for a start and obviously didn't have much passing trade. Why, half the houses on the street had boarded up windows. . . _

"Please, no," she whispered as she stepped closer to read the rain faded paper, the awful fear in her gut spilling over, making her feel heavy limed with nameless dread. _"Please, please, please."_

**Condemned Building. Unsafe Property. Do Not Enter.**

Glancing at the house next door she realised it bore the same placard. The entire row had been condemned as unsafe. Scheduled for demolition.

_He wasn't there._

"Alohamora!" She had pulled her wand from her jacket without thinking. What did it matter if a Muggle saw her now? Azkaban was pretty much the only thing that would keep her from finding Severus. She determinedly ignored the little voice that amended that thought to "_if he's still here to find."_

To her dismay the door swung inwards on its stiff hinges - _where were the wards?_ She entered the little sitting room, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. It had changed greatly since Emma had last there. The walls were now completely lined with shelves, all sagging with the weight of books, and the brown sofa had half collapsed. What struck her most though were the heavy layer of dust that covered every surface and the pervading, musty smell of neglect.

_No._

She pulled open the little door to the kitchen, desperate for some sign of habitation. The dust was as thick in here and half the doors were missing from the units. The little oven had been pulled away from the wall and the gas apparently disconnected. She shuddered.

Making her way back to the front room she searched for the little staircase that would lead upstairs, frantically pulling books from the shelves until she uncovered the catch for the door hidden behind some shallow shelves.

She checked his parents' room first, then the bathroom, her eyes so filled with tears it was almost impossible to see, her throat starting to ache as she fought the spiralling panic. Everything was in tired disarray and looked as though it had not been touched in months, maybe years. It took every last ounce of courage she had left to open the door to his little bedroom.

The magically widened bed they had shared had gone, replaced by a battered camp bed and tattered blankets. The desk was missing and - somehow this was worst of all - the little bookcase stood empty against the far wall, its sagging shelves housing only dust and cobwebs.

Unable to check the tears any longer she began to sob, her shoulders heaving as she wept, gulping at the air.

This wasn't supposed to happen. The spell was supposed to take her to _him_. To be there when _he_ needed _her_. Whatever time it was that she had been dragged too it would seem as if she'd arrived far, far too late.

She had to escape from this spell.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

><p>He had tried to ignore it for as long as possible. As a child the resemblance was weak at best, but as the girl grew there was little denying it. Potions lessons became a thing of nightmare as he was plagued, no longer just by Potter's arrogance and Longbottom's determined attempts to blow the entire classroom to smithereens, but by Emma's large brown eyes staring back at him from Hermione Granger's face.<p>

He had never had much time for the girl. She was irritating, overly eager to please and often irrationally emotional. The knowledge that in a few years she would take it upon herself to invade his past churned in his gut. Harry Potter's best friend, a girl he had gone out of his way to belittle and insult, was going to force her way into his unhappy life to witness his poverty, his embarrassment, his tears. Good God, no wonder she had recoiled from his touch!

What had possessed her to climb into bed with him anyway? What kind of power did she feel it gave her to press her attentions onto the adolescent version of a most hated teacher?

That summer evening in Spinner's End he had opened his very soul to her, had told her things he'd told no one else. Her ready acceptance of his confession had been like balm at the time. Now it stuck in his throat like ground glass.

"_You don't have to tell me anything."_ She had whispered. "_I know you."_ And she had known him, known what he was to become, known how futile and empty his adult life would be. She must know his future, too. Something had prompted her to come, to take him up like some worthy cause. Was he an object of pity to her? Or had this simply been the most elaborate prank in the history of Hogwarts?

What angered him most - what fuelled the shame and resentment roiling turbulently within him - was how long he had been looking forward to her return.

How had he been _so_ blind for _so_ very long? He was so used to seeing Potter and his friends parade around the castle that he had stopped actually _seeing_ them; they were always just there, a pain to be borne. It hadn't been until that blasted ball that the truth had finally hit him in all its horrifying, overwhelming glory. The whole affair had seemed like a ridiculous extravagance, especially given that all signs were pointed towards the Dark Lord's imminent return. Yet the ministry had insisted and Dumbledore had given his blessing and so Snape was forced to attend.

He had been standing there, bored and restless, counting down the minutes until he would be allowed to slink away, watching with disinterest as the champions processed into the hall. Suddenly, there dangling from the arm of the Durmstrang seeker, was Emma.

Severus only caught the briefest glimpse of her before she was whirled away into the opening dance but it was enough. Her upturned, smiling face, so perfect in his memory, was unmistakable. His heart seemed to stall inside his chest, sight and sound fading away, until nothing was left but the sound of his blood rushing in his ear and that one, brief glimpse of her. The swift, stinging joy at seeing her was replaced by the fear that perhaps somehow he had slipped inside his own shields. Karkaroff and Moodys' unwelcome attentions had dogged him for months now; caught between his former brother and his former inquisitor he had been lightly Occluding for weeks. Had his growing unease somehow prompted fantasy to spill over into reality?

He had scanned the crowd ceaselessly, finally to be rewarded with a second glimpse, this time of carefully arranged curls and blue silk. A new fear began to grow, the fear that somehow Karkaroff knew about her, that she was connected with his ill reputed school. Pushing his panic aside he let go the breath that he had been holding since first seeing her, his mind racing as he tried to settle on a course of action.

It was this pause that had saved him. Suddenly aware that he was being watched he hurriedly schooled his features into their accustomed mask of bland indifference and returned his awareness to his surroundings, studiously ignoring Moody's hostile glare. As hearing returned his was able to discern the words among the whispers that filled the hall.

"_Granger. Hermione Granger. Potter. Gryffindor."_

She spun into view again, laughing brightly in the arms of her escort, and Severus' overwrought mind finally made the connection that caused his blood to run to ice. _Hermione Granger. _The woman he had been waiting for, the girl he had been dreaming of, was a student.

He felt his gorge rising in his throat and knew that he had to escape from the overheated press of the Hall. He made his way blindly to the doors, rudely pushing past colleagues and Ministry representatives alike in his panic, heedless to their protests. Once outside he gasped at the evening air, willing the churning in his stomach to subside.

A student. His past was being haunted by a student. He wrestled with his shields, struggling to hold back the rising tide of betrayal, shame and anger. But his shields were now fatally flawed and nothing could stem the flood of emotions that welled up like poison inside him. The first rosebush exploded before he was even aware that he had drawn his wand. Leaves and petals drifted to the ground leaving only the ugly twisting of the stems behind. In savage satisfaction he raised his wand again.

-x-

How often had he yearned for her during the long decade since their last meeting? Through these last few tumultuous years? He had thought she might appear the day that Lily Evans' son had arrived to be sorted; now he realised that she had. All those times when he had wished for the gentle comfort of her presence he had instead been forced to endure the actions of her childish counterpart as she threw herself into the very situations that caused his ire: stealing his supplies, attacking him in the Shrieking Shack, winning the house points that stole away the Slytherin Cup.

Times had begun to darken, a change mirrored by the Mark upon his arm. The understanding that Emma would always arrive when his life reached its lowest ebb had spurred him onwards, even if her arrival would foreshadow a greater darkness still. Using that knowledge to summon her to his side had seemed like the answer to all his lonely prayers. It had taken such little effort for a Potions Master to procure the tiny vial to bait her. Yet it had been Miss Granger, not Emma who had flown to his side; a Miss Granger who had been taught the deadly significance of ridged glass containers in her very first year at Hogwarts, why such bottles were restricted to the highest shelves of the potion's store cupboard. She would have recognised the poison in a heartbeat, would have known the depths to which he was willing to sink in the hope of securing just a few more moments by her side. She had known the power that she held over him and yet still she had led him on -

His skin crawled with each memory of their time together; each and every moment when he had believed her to be his friend. He despised her, and yet, as the Mark twisted and grew there were moments when, in pitiable weakness, he had wished her back, despite her varied betrayals.

When she finally stumbled into his office, her dusty face streaked with tears, her look of pure joy at seeing him still had the power to cause his heart to soar within his chest. She uttered a little cry as she darted forwards, throwing her arms about him before he could even thing of rebuffing her and for a moment he submitted, allowing her to hold him as if he was the only thing that mattered in her world, finding comfort in the lie.

But it couldn't last. Anger rose, strong enough to end his agonising uncertainty, strong enough to push her away.

"Unhand me," he snarled.

"Thank God," she whispered, "Thank God." There had been something so terribly ominous about Severus' parting farewell that she had feared he might have been correct about the end of the spell. Returning to Spinners End to find it derelict had frightened her more than she had realised; she trembled as she held him, wishing with all her heart that he might wrap his arms around her, never to let her go.

At his command to release him she had merely held him more tightly still, her face buried in the scratchy fabric of his robes. He was still angry with her for what had happened after the summer storm but it didn't matter. Finding him again was all that was important; she'd simply have to find a way to make him forgive her. "Severus," she murmured, revelling in the chance to speak his name aloud once more.

Strong hands grabbed her wrists, forcing her to release him, pushing her away. She stumbled slightly, taken aback by this unexpected rough treatment. "You do not get to call me that," he hissed, his voice dangerously low. "You will address me by my proper title."

She was tempted to laugh but one look at his face convinced her that he was in deadly earnest. His dark eyes had narrowed and he was glaring at her with something so akin to hatred in his eyes that she took another step backwards. He gave the impression of being so tightly wound that for the first time ever Emma felt slightly afraid of him.

"Mr Snape," she amended. His eyes narrowed further and she corrected herself once more, "Master Snape?"

"Professor Snape," he ground out.

There was a ringing in her ears. A faint but persistent sound as if she had just been caught too close to a violent explosion. She shook her head to clear it but the odd sensation remained making it suddenly hard to focus.

"Professor Snape," she repeated dully. The shape of the words seemed to pull at her, urging her forwards. She shook her head again and watched the look of contempt that spread across Severus' face.

"No miraculously regained memories?" he sneered, the cruel expression twisting his face into something alien and yet shockingly familiar. She watched him in mute fascination, watching the play of anger and disdain across his face. He looked awful, she realised, his hair falling in limp, greasy strands, his skin sallow in the sickly light of his office. "Surely you don't intend to continue this farce?"

"Professor Snape," she echoed once more, wishing that she could think clearly. "Prof-" The memory completed itself with staggering force and Emma's hands shook as she tore the pink bag from the pocket of her jacket. There, sitting just below her toiletries, was the plain white envelope with its abbreviated address. She snatched it up and held it out to him. "This has to be for you!" she gasped. "This is why I found you - it has to be!"

He folded his arms across his chest. "Are you certain it isn't perhaps intended for Professor Sinistra? Or even Professor Sprout?"

Each word he uttered caught her like a blow. She dropped her arm and stared at him, searching his angry sneer for any trace of the man she had hoped to find, for the man who would hold her until the terrifying flashes of memory faded back into the spell. His eyes were completely cold. She swallowed.

"Why are those names familiar to me?" she demanded, her voice unsteady. Were they current staff members? She tried to recall them, seeing only glimpses of flyaway hair and dark blue robes. Had they been her teachers, was that what he was trying to tell her? But that would mean-

"Do you know me?" she asked, simultaneously excited and terrified of his answer. She had the feeling of standing on the edge of a high precipice where one step could carry her hurtling down into the abyss; as though her fate somehow rested in his hands.

There was not an ounce of kindness in his voice as he replied. "I am fully aware of who you are, Miss Granger."

The high pitched noise was back. Emma shivered, wrapping her arms tightly round herself. The feeling of wrongness had returned and with it the awful shifting nausea. She swallowed again. "Am I from this time?"

He flicked his eyes over her. "I doubt you can be more than five years older than your current student self."

"Are we friends?"

"Hardly!"

"Then why would I have bound myself to your timeline like this?" she begged. "Why you? Why was I carrying a message for you from the future? I know better than that; you can't just try to change the past!"

"I should think your use of a Time Turner in your third year would have taught you that if nothing else." Her head whipped up but he raised a hand, demanding her silence as he continued. "Nonetheless, I am quite certain you used the device to free a convicted murderer from Ministry control."

"I did what?"

"The same night you were nearly mauled by a werewolf." He delivered each word with cold force. "Oh, how that must have amused you. Listening so indignantly as I admitted that I had almost been killed by your precious Professor Lupin, knowing full well in a few years' time I'd be forced to meet him again in were form again. You even alluded to it, if I recall!"

"That was you?" she wondered, her head spinning painfully. "You protected me from the werewolf? That was a teacher?" After days of nothing his words were causing disjointed memories to eddy up with overwhelming intensity. She was shifting and spinning as though trapped in the spell yet here she was, both feet planted firmly on the ground. She was uncertain when she had started to cry but suddenly the tears were welling up and there was nothing she could do to check them.

"Oh, quit this ridiculous act, Miss Granger!" He spat, apparently finding some grim satisfaction in how each word caused her to flinch. His anger was palpable, filling the sparse office and pushing them further apart. Emma found herself struggling against it as she raised the envelope once more.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, just take it."

He snatched the letter from her outstretched hand and tore the missive in two. "Your meddling isn't welcome here," he informed her, crossing to the fireplace and dropping the pieces into the empty grate. "_You_ are not welcome here."

"But last time," she countered. "In the Headmaster's rooms-" Because that had been the room she had glimpsed, hadn't it? The curious, curved walls of the tower lined with the portraits of head teachers of ages' past.

"We have never been inside the Headmaster's office."

So, that hadn't happened yet. Was this what he had apologised for? Was this the strange guilt that he had been carrying?

"Oh, Severus. I'm so sorry."

At her use of his given name something seemed to snap inside him. His carefully reined anger spilled over, flushing his face an angry shade of red.

"Get out," he screamed. "Get out!"

There was no trace of Severus left, just a rage that chilled her to the core. Terrified, she stumbled backwards into the waiting dark.

-x-

The spell was different this time. No shifting or spinning, just the sensation of being flung far, far away from him with a force that left her weak.

-x-

A girl with red hair caught her in her arms. "Thank goodness that didn't work. I knew it was too soon to try. Maybe we should just accept that this isn't the sort of magic to mess with."

Lily Potter. Emma pulled herself out of the younger woman's grasp to glare at her

"You!" she began, only to falter when she realised that the girl's face was wrong, her eyes a deep brown colour, not green at all.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The room seemed to swim. Not the dimming sensation that suggested she was to be thrown through time, but a horrible tilting that brought panic and nausea, distorting the features of the red headed girl even further.

When was this going to end?

Suddenly she was on the floor, light and pain exploded behind her eyes and she realised she must have hit her head. The redhead knelt beside her and laid a gentle hand on her cheek.

"Hermione? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

_Hermione_? Well, of course that was her name. _Silly of her not to have realised sooner. _The pain in her head increased and she was relieved when the world shifted to black.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

><p>The Mediwitch pursed her lips while she examined the pulsing blue and green light that hovered over Hermione's sternum.<p>

"An Arithmatically based spell, you say?" Her tone was heavy with disapproval. "Your friend was right to bring you in; messing around with experimental magic can be very dangerous."

Hermione nodded listlessly. Since waking up in St Mungo's, she had been inundated by returning memories and it felt as if her mind was having to stretch uncomfortably to hold them all. Perhaps it would not have been so bad had they arrived instantly, or at a constant rate, but some recollections were trickling towards her with the all the pace and cloying consistency of syrup while others hurtled towards her with staggering, overwhelming speed. She focussed on the dancing balls of light and let the witch's admonishments wash over her.

"You were very lucky, young lady. It seems that you're only mildly magically depleted. Though what you were doing trying to mess with Master level spells is beyond me." She flicked her wand and the light suddenly vanished, causing Hermione to flinch. "A Healer will be in shortly to see you. They'll probably want to keep you in overnight for observation."

Her face softened slightly and she absently patted Hermione on the knees before picking up her chart. "You need to take better care of yourself," she advised.

Hermione swallowed thickly and nodded. The gesture had been so reminiscent of Dr Harrison that for a moment she had been able to imagine herself back in 1970s Manchester, dressed in a blue cotton nightgown rather than a faded hospital gown.

She kept hoping that her memories of the spell would start to fade as her old life returned to her, growing hazy or dreamlike as they ebbed away, but instead they remained, cruel in their clarity. She squeezed her eyes shut tight but felt the tears form regardless, and her throat began to ache with the effort of holding back her grief.

The door clicked behind the Mediwitch and Hermione allowed herself to draw a great, shuddering breath as she willed herself to calm down. It would seem Ginny hadn't divulged the true nature of the spell she had attempted and she had no plans to admit to it herself. She just needed to hold herself together long enough to be discharged.

The door opened again and Hermione opened her eyes to watch as Ginny slipped noiselessly into the room. Despite everything Hermione was forced to smile; having spent so much time with Ron as a child, it amazed her that a Weasley could do anything quite so quietly. The redhead carefully closed the door and moved to perch on the edge of the bed, her face pale and concerned.

"You've been crying," she observed.

Hermione fidgeted under her gaze.

"I can't seem to stop," she whispered. "He may have been dead for months, but I only saw him yesterday."

Ginny sucked in a breath. "It really worked?"

Hermione pulled her handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan and dabbed at her eyes. Fresh tears gathered almost instantly. "I don't know," she admitted. "I saw him, if that's what you mean. But I never knew why I was there. It's still all confused." Her voice broke over the final word and she covered her face as her shoulders began to shake. She couldn't seem to breathe properly and she began to gasp. She could hear the hysteria growing with each frantic breath, but seemed incapable of calming herself. Everything that had happened had somehow become a physical thing, weighing on her chest and constricting her throat. It hurt.

The bed dipped as Ginny moved closer and she found herself pulled into a firm embrace. Ginny was murmuring something to her, but she couldn't focus on the words. Instead, she concentrated on the feeling of being held. After relying so completely on _his_ touch to keep her safe, she still found genuine comfort and security in the contact. She let herself relax against the younger girl and after a while the tears abated enough for her to ask "How long was I gone?"

"You just seemed to flicker, then fall," came the reply. "It took no time at all. It wasn't until you hit the floor that I even realised something was wrong." Using her wand she dampened a cloth and held it out for Hermione to wipe her face. "I feel so guilty," she frowned. "If I'd honestly thought that there was any way the spell could work, I wouldn't have let you try it. This spell _never_ works."

She reached inside her bag and pulled out a heavy-looking ring binder overflowing with papers. "I didn't think even you would have the endurance or patience needed to actually configure the spell. I just thought it was best to simply let you have your head and hope you ran out of steam." She dropped the folder onto Hermione's knees with a soft thwump. "I suppose I should have known you wouldn't give up."

Hermione opened the folder and leafed through the pages covered in her careful, rounded script. Endless facts converted into figures and twisted through equations, pages and pages of meticulously researched and revised notes. There, clipped to the first page, was the newspaper clipping that had started it all; a half page article torn from _The Quibbler_. It was creased from countless re-readings and, staring at it now, Hermione could remember each and every one; could remember that feeling of hope and frustration and the overwhelming need to act. How many times had she stared at this piece of paper and yearned?

Septimus Proust, a retired Arithmancy lecturer, had spoken out vociferously against the power shift that had occurred following Dumbledore's murder and widely announced his intention to use the ancient spell to save the wizard. His disappearance a few months after the article's publication had been heralded by some as a sign of at least partial success. Later disclosures of a Dark Mark seen floating over his abandoned house suggested otherwise. Yet his speculation about the spell had been enough to spark a brief, intense national interest. Having spent most of the year hiding out of sight, it hadn't been until much later that she had even heard of the spell.

She turned her attention back to the folder and sighed. It was so hard to recall how she had felt when was making all these notes. Professor Snape's ignoble death had been a tragedy, but it had been part of the general sadness of war. Now, each of these meticulously recorded facts about his life seemed intensely personal.

Turning another page she found a new set of notes. There was less writing, more numbers, but the new calculations seemed to focus on herself.

"Everything was exact," Ginny confirmed. "Calculated down to the last part; your weight, how much you could carry. It was all done with scientific precision, save one part. The final year was too confused. No one knew when he was in his office or visiting the Ministry. He used to prowl round the castle at night and the Carrows used to hang around him like flies. We didn't know when it would be safe to contact him."

"So, unable to key the spell to a certain time or date, I asked to be sent to when he needed me most?"

"Yes."

Hermione laughed. It was such a simple thing; such a ridiculously simple oversight. The laughter caught in her throat.

"But, Ginny! That was all the time! I met him as a child, as a teenager, when he started teaching. I only spent a few hours with him as headmaster and I didn't even remember that I had to warn him!" She scrubbed furiously at her face. "I didn't even know _who_ he was."

Ginny drew a long breath through her teeth and stared at her in silence as she considered what she had just been told. For all her fiery temper and Weasley practicality, it was her ability to sit back and reason that had finally drawn Hermione into a true friendship with the girl. Yet there where times like this when her ability to see into the heart of things was unnerving.

Eventually she reached out and grasped one of Hermione's damp hands. "I know it's difficult, Hermione, but you mustn't blame yourself. I think the spell deliberately removed your memories of him."

"But why?" Hermione demanded, gesturing at the folder on her lap. "The basis of this spell is the desire to help, to set things right. How could I do that if I didn't even know why I was there?"

Ginny stared at their interlinked fingers, obviously uncomfortable. "I'm guessing it wasn't just _when_ he needed you; it was _how_ he needed you. I think the spell realised that you had . . . conflicted feelings about him and decided to let you start again. Everybody had an opinion of Severus Snape, none of them even close to the truth. You got to be his fresh start, someone who would see _him_, not the Slytherin or the Spy."

Hermione dropped her gaze to the folder on her lap once more. If that was true, then the spell had certainly succeeded. She had trusted him instinctively. They'd been friends. Or at least they had until he had become aware of her true identity. Her mind flinched away from that final memory of him: him hating her.

"It didn't matter though," she realised. "He still died."

"Don't say that," cautioned Ginny. "I reckon you did more than you realised. I bet that even when you met him as Headmaster you were still his friend, weren't you? You were probably the only person left who still had faith in him. That_ matters_."

Hermione nodded, blinking back fresh tears. It was hard to believe that any spell could have made her forget someone as brave, kind and loyal as Ginny Weasley. Some of her reawakening memories were terribly painful, but this recent, intense friendship had been blissful to recall. Her friends were something to cherish.

"Harry," she murmured. The spell had caused her to forget him, too. No wonder she had been so quick to run to James Potter and so devastated when she had realised he wasn't the person she sought. "God, I miss him."

"And Ron?" Ginny pressed, taking this apparent non sequitur in stride. "What about him?"

That memory was less comfortable, but no less intense. "Him too," she admitted glumly.

"They'll want to see you," Ginny warned. "Everyone will. They'll be frantic when they hear you ended up here. I can stall them for a bit if you like..."

"Please. I don't think I'm quite ready to see anybody just yet. Not while I'm still working out what happened."

There was a perfunctory knock at the door before it opened to admit an elderly wizard in Healer's robes. "Miss Granger," he beamed, apparently not noticing her tear-streaked face. "It isn't often I make the trip up to the fourth floor but I wanted the chance to say hello in person. I'm Hippocrates Smethwyck."

The answer came to her immediately as did her manners. "It's lovely to meet you, sir. Healer Smethwyck oversaw your father's case following Nagini's attack, Ginny," she explained by way of an introduction. "He was kind enough to let me see the case notes for my project."

"Ah, Miss Weasley." He shook Ginny's hand before turning back to Hermione. "_The Arithmantic Concurrencies Amongst the Venoms of Magical Creatures_, wasn't it?"

"Close enough."

"Fascinating subject. Bit advanced for your first year's project, I would have thought. It wasn't until Mr Weasley's attack that I'd even heard of one venom being used in lieu of another. Absolutely Fascinating."

Ginny stood up, laughing. "That's probably my cue to leave." She placed a kiss on Hermione's forehead before heading for the door. "Let me know what they decided, alright? If you need anyone to collect you, I'll come right back."

She paused as she looked at the ring binder on Hermione's lap, obviously uncertain if it was a good idea to leave it behind. Catching her eye, she nodded sharply and slipped from the room as quietly as she had entered.

Hermione closed the folder and pushed it away. "I always meant to ask, is the Healer who provided the potion still working here? I would love to speak with them."

His face suddenly became serious. "I suppose I can tell you. We only kept it private because Dumbledore was so certain that You-Know-Who was back. It wasn't a Healer who created the potion. It was Professor Snape."

He jumped slightly as a loud ticking noise filled the room. Pulling a rather battered-looking timepiece from his pocket he squinted at its face and frowned. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me," he apologised. "I'd hoped to have a bit more time to chat. Maybe when you're feeling better, eh?" He took her hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I look forward to seeing your final paper, Miss Granger. Fascinating subject, absolutely fascinating!"

Hermione heard herself mumble something in reply, but it was hard to concentrate with her heart now pounding in her chest. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she swallowed convulsively as she tried to understand what Healer Smethwyck's revelation might mean.

Severus had ripped the letter in two.

_She had seen him do it. _

Yet he had gone on to create the exact same potion she had so amateurishly encrypted. She realised he had seen the letter once before, back when they had first discovered the contents of her bag, hidden away behind the thick curtains of his four poster bed. Would that glimpse have been enough for him to have recreated the potion? Or had he retrieved the halves of her letter once she had been thrown clear of the spell?

She stared at the innocent-looking folder of notes and equations and felt herself grow cold. Where had the potion come from? There was no way that the spell could have provided it; it was simply impossible. Everything she learnt about the spell seemed to suggest it had mutated far beyond her original intentions. She gingerly lifted the folder and hid it away in the bedside cabinet, repressing a shudder.

_What had she done?_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

><p>The house had the feeling of having long stood empty despite the fact she had only left the previous morning. Perhaps it was the continued absence of her parents she could feel, the lack of family in what was obviously a family home.<p>

Dropping the beaded bag on the hall table she hung her jacket on the otherwise empty coat rack and headed into the study. She was desperate for a long bath and anything that didn't resemble hospital food but first she felt obliged to let Ginny know she was home safe.

Sitting down at her father's bureau her eyes were caught by the magically filed copy of the last letter she had sent. She had penned it only a few days ago but unfolding it now, it felt as though whole months had passed.

_J Lowry,_

_Please find updated calculations enclosed. I know you said not to bother but I've run the figures for the older data as well. I think the results are very interesting. I'm having to send this in two separate trips as the parchment rolls were a little unwieldy for the owl to carry in one go._

_I shall see you at Wednesday's seminar but would be happy to call by earlier should you wish to discuss any of my workings. I'm not completely happy with the last two feet - hoping you can shed some light on the variants._

_Yours,_

_H Granger_

She replaced the letter with a sigh and reached for a fresh sheet. It was unpleasant to remember the endless weeks of research and calculation that had preceded her attempt at taking justice to Severus Snape. The dogged hours spent analysing and quantifying the properties of magical venoms in the hope of finding an Arithmantic common denominator that would, theoretically, render them interchangeable, either as medicine or potion. Of course, rendering anything down to its constituent magic would require Potions skills far beyond anything she had ever been taught at Hogwarts, but for the time Hermione had been content simply to immerse herself in the theory. Her Instructor had warned her that she was probably aiming her sights too high for her first project but Hermione had relished the demands of such a difficult topic. She had been able to lose herself for hours in study, often working late into the night, collapsing in her bed too tired to dream.

What little free time she had left was spent on her second fixation: helping Harry find justice, or at least recognition, for Professor Snape. While she hadn't shared Harry's personal reasons for needing some sort of closure concerning the unacknowledged hero of the war, the tragedy of his story had touched her at a very primal level. It had been Ginny who had finally persuaded Harry to see his obsession for what it was. But rather than sharing the fatalistic acceptance Harry had found, Hermione had carried on alone, writing to the Ministry, peppering _The Daily Prophet_ with impassioned letters that remained unpublished once Harry's voice was removed from the story. _The _Quibbler, though sympathetic, was more concerned with what Snape's death was likely to mean for Vampire Registration. The Lovegoods it seemed, as always, had slightly missed the point.

Oddly, it had been Ginny, not Harry, who had taken the time to listen to her frustrated rants.

* * *

><p><em>Ginny,<em>

_It seems I was suffering from slight magical depletion, but nothing a few days' rest shouldn't fix. After a very stern talking to the Healer decided to sign me off work for the next six weeks with "Exhaustion". Really, it's just a more employable term for _war-trauma_ which in itself is simply a more professional way of saying "Bursts into tears at the slightest thing, becomes unhinged when offered Marmalade." _

_At first I was devastated; you know how important this Apprenticeship has been to me. Then I realised it was probably a very good idea. I feel as if I've been rushing from one thing to the next for years now, never able to settle at anything. Maybe a little enforced rest is what I need._

_Mistress Lowry (still pathologically unable to call her Janice) has been very understanding. She suggested I go and spend some time with my parents but I really don't think I could go over there without trying to fix things. I think a bit of time alone might be exactly what I need right now._

_I'll write properly when I'm a bit more certain what I plan to do._

_Love to all,_

_Hermione._

* * *

><p>Normally a long soak in the bath was enough to restore her spirits. Having been denied any luxury for so long during the now legendary hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes it was things like hot water, nice clothes and a decent haircut that spoke to her restless soul. It had amused Ginny no end that the Dark Lord had managed to turn her into a girl where six years of Lavender and Parvati had failed. Now the hot water simply made her feel lethargic and light headed. It was too early to justify sleeping but she really didn't feel like moving. Perhaps she would take her duvet down to the front room and spend the day on the sofa.<p>

Opening the wardrobe she stared blankly at the neatly arranged clothes inside. Every article was familiar to her and, if she could be bothered, she could probably remember a time and a place when she had worn each item. Even the smell, a mingling of cloth and washing powder, was familiar. These were _her_ things, _Hermione Granger's_ things.

She had finally got her wish; she was home. Yet somehow she felt more lost than ever.

Closing the wardrobe she pulled her discarded clothes from the hamper. A few more cleansing spells wouldn't hurt.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Mr Weasley,<em>

_Thank you ever so much for giving me the permission to go over your old case notes - they were a huge help for my project and yes, even though I'm surprised any one other than myself would be interested in it, I'll be sure to send you a copy once it's been graded._

_Were you aware that Professor Snape was behind the creation of the potion that saved your life? No wonder you and Molly were so quick to forgive him after the war. I guess it's just one more thing we'll never be able to thank him for._

_Pass on my love to Molly and the boys. _

_Much love,_

_Hermione. _

* * *

><p>The discovery that someone else had not only considered the use of one magical venom in the treatment of injuries caused by another, but had also managed to use cleverly rendered venom in an actual treatment should have affected her in variety of ways. Firstly, she would have expected to be thrilled to finally have proof that such a use was possible. Then perhaps she would have felt the bitter sting of disappointment that someone else had researched the theory before her and had found a practical application for their work, a practical application that was far beyond her current capabilities.<p>

All she had felt had been sudden, overwhelming fury. One glance at the hastily scribbled formula notes had been enough to convince her that she held in her hand the very thing that could have saved Professor Snape's life. The antidote to Nagini's venom and the terrible bleeding caused by the wounds the snake had inflicted had existed since her fifth year at school. So why hadn't Harry been made aware of it? Why hadn't Madam Pomfrey had vials of the stuff ready to administer at a moment's notice? And why hadn't Snape, of all people, been given access to the formula that could have saved him from such a horrific end?

* * *

><p><em>Dear Mum and Dad,<em>

_Thank you for the postcard; Canberra looks lovely. Don't worry about not being able to make it back for Easter, it was only an idea. It makes much more sense that you explore as much as you can of your new home._

_I managed to get my project finished a little early so I'm taking a bit of a break before starting the next stage of my apprenticeship._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

* * *

><p>Her intentions were good but after five hours of daytime TV she found she could sit still no longer, especially not while certain things kept plaguing her. The worst was that final memory of Severus, his face contorted with rage as he spat her betrayal in her face. Oh, logically she knew that he had forgiven her. For <em>him,<em> their final moments together had been in the headmaster's chambers. There had been no anger in him then, only resignation and the terrible sadness of dying hope.

* * *

><p><em>Professor, <em>

_How could you? You knew and yet said nothing. You knew who I was. You knew you could release me from the spell with a few simple words and yet instead you let me-_

_Should that matter when I loved you? Did you believe me, or simply take what I offered simply because you could? _

* * *

><p>She stared down at the scroll Healer Smethwyck had grudgingly bestowed upon her after extracting a promise that she wouldn't work on it until she had been declared fit to return to her studies. She had left it in her bag, determined to follow medical advice and to rest instead. But then she had tried to sleep and the dreams had come. They hadn't plagued her at all during her time caught in the spell and she had let herself hope that they might have passed.<p>

Taking her duvet and a mug of tea back to the sofa she had decided to open the scroll by way of a distraction. It had certainly given her something else to think about but there was no way she was returning to sleep now. There, in Smethwyck's terrible Healer's script, was the amended formula she had carried back through time. Not just the rendered Acromantula venom that could act as an antidote, but the carefully considered additions she had hoped would blend together in balance. The potion that would, she had prayed, undo the damage inflicted by Nagini whilst presenting similar symptoms: the growing paralysis, the heavy bleeding that was countered by blood replenisher, the loss of consciousness followed by death-like pallor and a drop in all vital signs.

Somehow, knowing for certain that Severus had retrieved her letter from the fireplace and taken the time to develop the potion was worse than simply wondering. He had brewed his own salvation yet never known what it was for. She had still seen him die. Had seen the light fade from his eyes as they turned glassy and unseeing, staring emptily up at Harry.

* * *

><p><em>Severus,<em>

_I might hope against hope if it were not for what you told me. That man was saved some years before that night. You thought I was there to save Mr Weasley, didn't you? Is that why you forgave me? You decided that my intentions were good even if they had led me to betray you? Until now I've let myself hope that maybe you realised that I didn't lie when I told you-_

_Or was it simply that any friendly face would have been welcome, even one you believed to be false?_

* * *

><p>The spell, that maddening <em>Iustitiae Momento<em>, should never have been able to carry her back into his childhood, even without a specific time to aim for. Even she had been sceptical that it could carry her as far as a year into the past, doubts that she had pushed aside in her determination to attempt the spell. It was only now that she was beginning to realise what she had done. She might have added to the potion to give the illusion the venom still worked, but the confirmation that Acromantula venom could be stripped back until it became a usable antidote and the technical details of how to perform such an advanced procedure could only have come from the spell.

Her formula had been used to save Mr Weasley; that was a very, very good thing. But what if she had changed other things, things of which she wasn't even aware? She turned back to her notes, poring over the figures. On paper the spell seemed as benign as ever.

The only person who could possibly help her was the Professor overseeing her Apprenticeship but she was loathe to disturb her Instructor. And anyway, what would she say?

_Janice, could you look over these notes for me? I've been messing around with an unregulated time spell and might have unwittingly altered the events of the recent war. Bit of a pickle, I'm sure you'll agree..._

Especially considering that it had been Professor Lowry who had unwittingly steered her in the direction of the spell in the first place. Though her course placed heavy emphasis on independent study there were still weekly seminars on the history, development and use of Arithmancy.

"_We wizards first learn the magic of words,"_ she had intoned. _"We soon learn that to know something's true name it to control it. But to break something down into its Arithmantic constituents is to know the very essence of something. It is this that makes Arithmancy so fascinating to those of us that study it; what makes it capable of magics beyond the capacity of words and wand alone. It is also what makes it so dangerous if applied without very, very careful study and attention. There are no cut corners in Arithmancy, no short cuts that will not lead you astray._

"_Take this spell, created by Theodora Ravenna in 1287 following her father's unjust incarceration in the castle that then graced the rocks upon which Azkaban stands today. Her interference did not prevent his arrest but it did allow for evidence to come to light that secured his release. There has only been one other recorded successful attempt, this time in 1812 by Angelique Delacroix. Yet at least seventeen lives have been lost to this spell. The dedication it must take to complete the workings borders on the fanatic and even that, it seems, is no guarantee of success."_

It struck Hermione that _Iustitiae Momento_ was Arithmancy's version of the Deathly Hallows; shrouded in mystery and legend, forgotten by all but the dedicated believers. Like the Hallows, the proof of this spell has come with the high cost of life.

"_Septimus, my old Instructor, believed that it was the desire for justice that was key to performing the spell correctly". _For a moment Professor Lowry's had dropped to a sigh._ "We'll never know how close he came to finding out..."_

The intended warning had acted like spark to tinder. Within a week Hermione had managed to secure a copy of every edition of _The Quibbler_ ever to feature the story. The list of casualties linked to the spell did nothing to dissuade her and soon she had managed to track down every reference to the spell that was still in print. From that moment she had scarcely paused to eat until the spell was complete.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks, Ginny, but not just yet; I'm still feeling exhausted. I promise I'm being very lazy and eating properly and all the other things you made me swear to do. Wonderful as it is that you're now allowed weekends away from Hogwarts, I feel guilty at keeping you away from Harry and your family. <em>

* * *

><p>She had taken a huge chance in allowing the spell to decide where in Severus Snape's timeline she should appear. All she had wanted was to find a safe time during that final year in which she might steal through Hogwarts to leave the potion's list on his desk. She had taken the Marauders' Map with her to ensure that she never had to meet the man himself, knowing that he would not trust her attempts to help. Somehow the wretched spell had picked up on that and sent her to a time when he was most likely to accept her, before picking her up again and dragging her through his timeline. Which was impossible. Spells weren't sentient.<p>

Perhaps she should have confessed everything to Professor Lowry but the dubious legality of her actions kept her quiet. Though the spell was not illegal she had experienced first hand how tightly time magic was controlled by the Ministry. So instead she limited herself to poring over her daily copies of _The Prophet_ and _The Times,_ terrified that she might glimpse a story confirming that she had done irreparable damage. If she had saved Mr. Weasley without intent, who knew what else she had changed?

* * *

><p><em>Severus,<em>

_I miss you._

_Sometimes I can almost convince myself that the whole thing was just a dream. Waking up in St Mungo's, all my old memories resurfacing, I could easily have been persuaded that the whole thing was a bizarre hallucination, some symptom of the collapse I was about to suffer. Then Ginny brought me my notes, those pages and pages of Arithmantic calculations, all based around a half forgotten spell that had only ever worked twice before._

_It's hard to remember how I thought of you back then. Your death was a tragedy but it was an academic sort of sadness. By the end of the day I had seen so much death that watching the light fade from your eyes on the floor of the Shack was just one more horror to be borne. It wasn't until afterwards that the nightmares came. I think it might have been that yours was the one death we might have prevented but none of us lifted a finger to help, too caught up in Harry's fast approaching destiny. I'm afraid that finding justice for you became something of an obsession. First of all it was getting your portrait placed in the headmaster's office. Then helping Harry lobby to have your Order of Merlin awarded posthumously. They were all Harry's ideas initially. Then Ginny managed to convince him to live in the real world and I was left alone trying to help._

_There's nothing academic about my feelings now. I can't even begin to -_

* * *

><p>Her shampoo no longer smelt like home. Now it smelt like the opulent marble bathroom of the headmaster of Hogwarts. It wasn't until the water ran cold that she realised she had somehow ended up on the shower floor.<p>

After that she began to use cleansing spells on herself as well. It probably wasn't wise but somehow it hurt less. Likewise, once she realised that the nightmares never followed her downstairs she stopped bothering with trying to sleep in her bed. She spent her days under the duvet on the sofa instead, alternately sleeping or staring at her notes, the television a constant noise in the background that barely registered. Occasionally sudden inspiration would seize her and she would take up her notes, re-examining her work and filling page after page with new calculations. She would scribble until both inspiration and energy left her, falling back exhausted against the cushions. Some days the only time she moved was to open the window to the owls and then to pen long enough replies to keep people away. Sometimes she would blink and realise she had been staring at nothing with no idea how much time had passed. Occasionally the doorbell rang but she rarely noticed. And then, finally, it rang and rang again, working its way into her murky thoughts and jarring her from her reverie.

She had hoped to ignore it, but Ginny had simply let herself into the house using magic and vanished the duvet with a flick of her wand. Hermione let herself be forced into the shower and had dressed herself in the fresh jeans and cotton blouse that Ginny selected for her. Her bed was remade, the front room tidied and her notes stowed back in their folder. Ginny had wanted to take them with her but relented once Hermione's cries had begun to scare her. Eventually she relented but only after warning Hermione that she would check on her regularly and that if she found Hermione wasn't looking after herself she would deliver her straight into her mother's hands.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Mrs. Weasley,<em>

_Thank you ever so much for the biscuits - they were just what I needed to cheer me up! You needn't worry about me at all - Ginny pops by whenever she can but mostly I'm quite happy to have some time just by myself. I promise I'll Floo you should I need anything._

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione_

* * *

><p>The walk to the supermarket took longer than she expected and once inside the noise was distracting and uncomfortable. She had only intended to grab some different toiletries then leave but it took her longer than expected to choose a new shampoo to try. After that she had wandered down the aisles, picking up anything that she thought might tempt her appetite or interest. By the time she reached the tills she could barely lift the basket. She took a taxi home.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Harry,<em>

_No, of course none of this is your fault! I don't know what Ginny has been telling you but you really don't have to worry. You know how hard I tend to work at things when I think they're important. I guess everything just caught up with me._

_And no, it has nothing to do with Adam, either. I know you didn't like him very much, and while throwing myself into another relationship after things ended so sourly with Ron was perhaps not the best decision I ever made, I refuse to be seen as the sort who falls to pieces over a boy. It didn't work out. I don't think either of us was particularly upset, or even that surprised._

_I'll come and see you soon, I promise._

_Love you,_

_Hermione._

* * *

><p>She hadn't even realised how long the back lawn had become until Mr. Harper from next door had offered to cut it for her the next time he mowed his own. She had been suddenly embarrassed at the state she had allowed her parent's home to fall into and had spent the next day dragging the lawn mower back and forth, terrified she might lose her toes and cursing her Muggle neighbours who were nosy enough to be suspicious of a magically maintained garden. Cursing them until Mr. Harper had knocked on the back gate and insisted on showing her how to do it properly. He'd then stayed on to divide the dying irises by the pond, and explained rhizomes to her until she had fetched him a cup of tea and a plate of Molly's endless biscuits.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Severus.<em>

_All I ever meant to do was sneak into your office and leave the potion list somewhere you might find it. The ridiculous coding was only there to ensure that only a trained Potions Master would ascertain what it was at a glance. I still remember puzzling over it with you at my side. I remember everything about you. _

* * *

><p>Once the garden was slightly tidier she had begun on the house. With the door shut it was far safer to use her magic but she found herself doing much of the cleaning by hand, regardless. It was oddly satisfying to return everything to its proper state. It was almost like she was rebuilding it all, piece by piece.<p>

After that she turned her attention to the Muggle post that had accumulated unopened on the hall table. This had included writing to Adam and offering the first sincere apology she had been able to give. Looking back now she had never really given their relationship a chance.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Ron,<em>

_I was ever so touched to receive your card. It really has been far too long since we last spoke and I can't tell you how much I regret letting our friendship slide the way I did. Although I'm certain that both of us knew from the outset that we would never work as a couple there really was no excuse for disappearing on you at a time when you needed your friends close by._

_I truly wish I could turn back the clock, but what's done is done. I needed to find my parents just as you needed to be there for your family but it pains me that we never had the chance to reconnect after the madness of the war began to recede._

_I don't think I'm quite ready for meeting up with anyone just yet but, once I'm back on my feet, I would love nothing more than to see you again and hear how you are doing._

_You were such a large part of my life for so very long, I honestly don't know how I've gone so long without seeing you. I know you're not one for letter writing but if you could find the time to let me know if you think you could forgive me, it would mean the world to me._

_Love, always,_

_Hermione._

* * *

><p>It wasn't until she held up the queue in the Post Office by chatting to the lady behind the counter that she realised she was lonely. She had sheepishly paid for her parcel to be posted to Australia and headed out into the sunshine. Not just lonely for the company of her elderly neighbours or Ginny's watchful visits, but lonely for her friends and the Magical world she had fought to defend.<p>

She cut through the park on the way home. The ducks on the pond were fat and sleek, nothing like the bedraggled specimens that had lived amongst the weeds of the canal at Spinner's End, yet their self-satisfied quacking cut her to the quick. She sped up, mortified to be crying in public, afraid that somebody might notice. Once home she headed straight for the study and pulled the heavy folder from its drawer.

* * *

><p>Severus,<p>

_I have a secret daydream that somehow you understood that the potion was meant for you and that somehow you survived. But that's all it ever can be, a dream. Even if by some miracle Professor Snape was able to walk away from Nagini's attack, I know I shall never see Severus again. He only existed for Emma, didn't he?_

_Nothing has ever hurt quite as much as the pain of realising that I'd lost you. I'm grateful that I had the chance to know you, the real you, that you kept so carefully concealed. I'm glad I had the chance to tell you that I loved you and that you believed me, even if you also believed that I would resent you the moment I regained my memories. But it hurts._

_For that reason this is the last letter I shall ever write to you. I'll always love you. I'll love the boy who rescued me and bought me chips and I'll love the man who was willing to turn to me when he shut out the rest of the world. But I need to forget you. The pain of holding your memory close is just too raw; I can't move past it. And so it's time to put thoughts of you aside._

_Only Ginny knows about the spell and that I met with you, and even she doesn't know all of it. No one else knows how I strayed into your life and they'll never find out. All of your secrets will be safe with me._

_I'm going to burn this letter; this and all the others that I've written to you over the last few weeks. I'm going to return to my old life, my real life, and finally let you go._

_I love you._

_Emma._

* * *

><p>It took a long time for the pages of notes to burn. She sat and watched the grate, using her wand to rekindle the paper until only ashes were left.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Dear Ron and Harry,<em>

_Forgive me for sending out copies of the same note but, this being the weekend, I imagine you're together right now anyway._

_You were right - though I'll never admit it to anyone else - it's time I started moving on with my life, the way the two of you have been able to. I can hardly remember the last year and I think it's more than time I started to create some positive memories. _

_I've decided to come to the memorial ceremony after all. I've spoken to Kingsley and he's agreed that I won't have to join in the speeches, or even sit at the head table. If your mum agrees, Ron, I'd very much like to join the Weasley table. I feel like I've got a lot of catching up to do._

_Can't wait to see you both in your dress robes!_

_Love,_

_Hermione._


	24. Chapter 24

_With thanks to **heartmom88** and **ofankoma** for all their help and encouragement._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four<strong>

* * *

><p>Hermione dressed in the smart silk skirt and embroidered top that she had been saving for the long awaited memorial service, wishing that she had chosen something less pretty and more covering. The curse scar from her fifth year showed slightly above the neckline and if she removed the outer robe then the marks from Bella's knife would be on display, although everyone knew about them anyway. Somehow the<em> Prophet<em> had got hold of the medical details of the survivors and she had almost become accustomed to peoples' gazes wandering below her neckline or along her arms. She had watched Harry long enough to know that you never got used to that sort of silent invasiveness. She had carried the same scars the entire time she had been with Severus but, like the dark tattoo on his forearm, they just hadn't seemed important.

She pulled her mind back to the present. She wasn't going to think about _him_, at least not tonight. Tonight was for those that she could still be with.

The Memorial Ball was supposed to mark the recovery of the wizarding world after the war and the beginning of a new era of prosperity and hope. Hogwarts, though in a usable state before the school year had begun, was to be declared finally restored to its former glory and a separate ceremony was to follow in a few days' time. Hermione had been looking forward to the evening for months, as desperate as the rest of the wizarding world to finally have a chance to move forwards. In the days following her release from the spell the thought of any celebration had sickened her. Now, appraising herself in the mirror of the wardrobe door, her feelings were much harder to pin down. It seemed disingenuous to believe that one night of revelry could heal the still-fresh wounds of war, yet at the same time it seemed important that they at least try.

She smoothed her hands over the luxurious material of her robe one last time before heading downstairs to Dissaparate.

-x-

Hermione had never been inside the Ministry Ballroom before, although considering that her only really experience of the Ministry of Magic before this had generally involved sneaking around hiding from Death Eaters, she imagined there was a lot of the prestigious building that would be new to her. She scanned the crowd and was relieved to see Ron and Harry chatting to several of their friends over by the buffet table. She hugged them both, perhaps more fiercely than they might have expected, but they hugged her back happily. Losing so many friends had meant none of them were shy about expressing affection any more. Harry kept his arm linked with hers and Ron smiled at her cheerfully, obviously grateful that the tension that had followed them both after their short relationship seemed to have finally dissipated.

Her heart was almost full to bursting with love for these two boys. They had seen one another at their worst but had emerged from all of it stronger than ever. It was monstrous to think that the entire time she had been caught in the spell she had not thought about them once. It was worse still that she had hidden away from them since her return. They were such a huge part of her life.

The crowds grew heavier as more and more people filed into the hall. It seemed as if anybody with the slightest connection to the war or the Ministry had been invited. Ginny arrived, pulling Hermione into a warm hug and pointing her in the direction of the Weasley table next to one of the Doric columns, before taking her place by Harry's side.

It took her several minutes to squeeze her way through the crowds but the area near the tables was less packed and it was with relief that she greeted the family that had done its best to adopt her and Harry.

Mrs. Weasley hugged her tightly before pulling her down into the chair next to hers and treating her to an appraising stare. "You look better," she decided. "Not completely back to how you were, but definitely better than you have been for the last year now."

"I don't think I'll ever feel quite the way I did before this time a year ago, but I'm definitely starting to move forwards."

"You're too thin you know."

"I know."

"Good girl. You should come round for dinner more often. Oh, I know you have your own life but we miss you. Ginny tries to come home as often as she can but I don't like to think that she's missing out on time spent with her friends. You and Harry are both a part of the family. Maybe now you and Ron have put that silliness behind you you'll be round more often."

"I didn't mean to hurt him,"

"Oh, shush. The war turned everything upside down and inside out. Maybe if it hadn't been for everything that had happened you might have stayed together or maybe never have got together in the first place. I'm just glad you didn't lose each other completely. We all lost far too much as it is." She reached inside her sleeve for her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. "I was hoping I'd at least get to the speeches before I started crying."

Hermione remembered the subdued smiles of the Weasley family and realised with a start that it was almost the anniversary, not only of the battle, but of Fred's death. "Oh, Molly. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, dear. It gets easier after a while but sometimes it just sneaks up on you. I don't think it will ever lose its edge."

With that George was at her side. "Don't worry, Mum. I've got a few things planned that should cheer you up," he assured her. "It'll be as if Fred never left."

"You will not play any silly pranks at a Ministry function, George! Your Father will have to come back in on Monday morning knowing that whatever happened was your fault! And Percy's being considered for a promotion! The last thing he needs is you making him look bad,"

"Honestly, I think he can manage that all on his own," muttered a voice beside her. She turned to find Ron holding out a glass of punch. "Best have a glass now before George manages to spike it," he advised, sinking into the chair next to hers. "You seen Harry?"

"Not for a while," she admitted, sipping the drink. "He's probably with Ginny."

"Don't remind me," Ron grumbled, good-naturedly. "Those two still have the ability to make me feel vaguely nauseous. You know, the way he talks about her, it's like they're married or something."

She laughed, glancing round the table at the extended family she had somehow acquired, and beyond them into the flow of people still filling the hall. She waved happily back to a group of Gryffindors by the bar and felt the last of the tension that threatened to mar the evening flow from her.

-x-

Hermione was listening with interest as Percy explained the plans to devolve certain Ministry powers to independently elected bodies when she felt Ron stiffen beside her and sigh theatrically. She turned to see Harry striding towards them, his face as black as thunder, Ginny following resignedly behind.

"They're going to knock down his house!"

"Whose house, mate?"

"Snape's!" Harry hissed. "The Muggles are knocking down his house and the Ministry isn't going to do anything about it. We're going to speak to Kingsley, right now!"

"Harry, I don't know-" Hermione began. The last thing she wanted to do was to be reminded of the few terrifying minutes she had spent searching the dusty building for a sign of Severus that just wasn't there. It haunted her even now.

"Is not as if he needs it anymore, is it?" Ron reasoned, snapping her from her thoughts.

"Ronald, that isn't the point and you know it!"

"Good, then you'll come!" Harry stalked away through the crowd, ignoring the stares that followed him across the room. Hermione threw an irritated glare in Ron's direction before following.

They had almost reached Minister Kingsley where he stood talking softly to Mr Weasley, when Ginny caught her arm. "Are you alright?"

"Why did he have to find out about this _tonight_?" Hermione could hear the petulance in her own voice but it didn't stop her feeling personally aggrieved. She had been genuinely enjoying herself. Tonight was supposed to be about finally letting the past rest, not digging over all the painful memories.

Ginny looked confused. "You knew?" she queried before Harry's opening salvo had her rushing to his side.

Well _of course_ she knew. Surely it must be common knowledge by now? Given that the war had ended almost a year ago exactly the tired little street must have been condemned for a good twelve or more months by now. What shocked her most was that it hadn't been torn down already. She probably wouldn't have been able to resist returning one last time had she thought any part of her time with Severus remained.

Taking her place next to Ron she listened uncomfortably to Kinsley's slow, conciliatory reply.

"We wanted to preserve it, maybe like your parents' house in Godrick's Hollow," he assured his audience. "But public sentiment still doesn't favour Snape. We were worried such a site might attract the darker elements still left in our society."

"He always kept his home a secret, Harry. He wouldn't have wanted people to see it, anyway. He was a very private man," Arthur added, reasonably.

Hermione bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and stared determinedly at the muted purple collar on Kingsley's robes. She had been afraid that she might be forced to listen to Harry talk about Snape; to be caught in a discussion about the man and his demise was every bit as painful as she had feared.

She forced her attention to wander. Glancing up at the raised dais behind them she noticed the large portrait that had been hung to follow the proceedings. Its animated face seemed to watch over the crowd with an air of benign munificence while its richly embroidered robes seemed to somehow glint and shimmer in the candle-light.

"What is _he_ doing here?" she hissed.

Ron glanced up and followed her line of vision to where another well-wisher had stepped forward to talk to Dumbledore's portrait. "A lot of people still love him," he shrugged. "He did help Harry defeat Voldemort."

"He sent Harry to his death!"

"He knew what he was doing." It was an old argument and she sensed Ron only took his side out of habit.

"No he didn't. All he had was conjecture. It takes remorse to remove your soul from a Horcrux, not someone else's willing sacrifice. He had no way of knowing Harry could survive."

"But he did. He lived."

"But how many people died, Ron? And even if they loved the man, that up there is still just a portrait. What right does a portrait have to be invited to official Ministry gatherings? Does it get to sit in on Ministry meetings, too?"

Ron sighed and opened his mouth to speak but Hermione's attention was caught by the sound of her name.

"-how long it took for her wand to be released from evidence from the Lestrange case. Dealing with Muggles takes longer still. Had the demolition order not been granted just before Christmas there might have been more we could do. As it was we found out too late and most of our resources were already focussed on planning tonight. Once Muggles get things onto computers it becomes much harder to change them."

Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "We at least owe it to him to try, don't we? Can't-"

"Christmas?" Hermione interrupted. "Christmas _after_ the war?"

Kingsley turned to her, apparently resigned that the rest of the Golden Trio were about to wade in to the argument. He looked tired but Hermione was too intent upon his reply to care.

"Yes. We didn't find out until late December. The Ministry barely operates over Christmas and from what I can understand, local Muggle government is much the same," he sighed. "We've managed to slow them this far but we couldn't undo their decision without seriously compromising the Statute of Secrecy."

"Damn the Statute of Secrecy!" Harry spat. "If Muggles haven't figured out about us after everything that happened under Voldemort then I don't think a few Obliviates and some missing computer files are going to expose our world!"

The argument carried on around her but Hermione was no longer listening. She wasn't even aware of Ron's arm around her until he spoke, his hushed voice soft with concern.

"Are you alright, Hermione? You've gone awfully pale."

"Yes," she replied, distracted. "Yes, I'm fine." Glancing up she could see Ginny watching her with concern, one conciliatory hand still placed on Harry's arm. "Actually, I think I could use a little air."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, it's alright. See if you can calm Harry down before he starts shouting. I'll just be a little while."

She worked her way through the crowd, edging towards the double doors with frustrating slowness. People stopped to shake her hand and press words of greeting upon her. She wasn't sure what she replied as she pushed her way inexorably towards the exit. There were people crowded in the cooler air just beyond the door so she forced herself to walk calmly until she turned the corner when she began to run.

Her impractical shoes clattered loudly on the marble floor as she raced towards the Apparition points at the far end of the Atrium. It felt as if the white noise of the crowd was still filling her head, making it impossible to think clearly. She wasn't even certain that she could Apparate without risk of splinching.

She forced herself to stop beside the scaffolding and heavy white curtains that covered the latest fountain to calm herself down. The new design was meant to be unveiled later in the evening but there was already a general consensus about the trite symbols of peace and unity that were likely to be depicted. She glared at the hidden monument, wondering where the funding for all the post war celebrations was coming from and ignoring the roaring in her ears lest it separate out into the desperate, hopeful questions that would stop her from being able to think, to focus.

The trouble was, nothing could abate the growing certainty burning inside her chest. She tried to ignore it, tried to be calm and rational, to be realistic. Severus had shown her first-hand the pain of dying hope. She wasn't sure she was strong enough to have her heart broken again.

-x-

She Apparated to the narrow street that ran behind the houses and carefully stowed her wand away before moving cautiously down the side alley to the main street. In the late Spring evening it looked much the same as it had the last time she was here. The end of the street was cordoned off by a high metal fence and the smell of building dust was heavy in the air.

She walked slowly up to the faded black door and knocked. It was so quiet on the street that the sound of traffic drifting across from the other side of town seemed unnaturally loud.

The door clicked open and she stepped inside, raising her wand to light the dark corners of the tiny room. It was unchanged; the only sign of movement was the partially obliterated footprints she had left in the dust when she had frantically charged from room to room. It was impossible to gauge how long ago that was. Had it been months as she had believed? Weeks? Maybe only days?

She didn't bother searching the other rooms. One glance around the little sitting room was enough to convince her that the rest of the house would be just as derelict. Instead she crossed the room to the lopsided sofa and allowed herself to sink down into its threadbare cushions, heedless of the dust that marked her fine clothes.

The tears she had been stubbornly fighting ever since Harry had mentioned Snape's name were finally allowed to fall unchecked.

It was as she feared.


	25. Chapter 25

_Text highlighted by __**bold italics**__ is taken directly from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, which I still do not own._

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five<strong>

* * *

><p>He closed his eyes.<p>

-x-

_Standing calmly in the green-tinged light of the clearing Severus took a deep breath of the gentle summer air. It was always summer here. _

_After a moment's search he stooped to retrieve the dirty bag from where it lay half covered in leaves. It was all that was left of her. It would be too dangerous should the slightest whisper of her be made known to the Dark Lord. The zip, though slightly rusted from long exposure to the elements was still keyed to her, the enchantment holding all his secrets safe._

"_Emma," he whispered. _

_-x-_

Leaning back in the comfortable, if ornate, Headmaster's chair, he allowed himself to explore his memories, handling them carefully like the precious things they were. Growing up amongst Muggles, he was well acquainted with their belief that in the moment before death your entire life flashes before your eyes. He would not have that luxury; the Avada Kedavra rips life and soul from the body in an instant, leaving no lingering moment between life and death. Accepting this, he chose to make time for those memories himself.

Emma, arriving out of the blue and taking over his summer. Emma, appearing when he needed her most. Emma, trusting and loyal and so very, very lovely.

The puzzle of the ingredient list had worried at him for a long time but, much like his studies into the murky waters of time magic, it had been brushed aside by his growing dependence and attraction to Emma. Later, disappointment and anger had coloured his memories, and the potion had ceased to matter compared to her mounting betrayals.

It had hurt to learn that she had appeared only so that he might save Arthur Weasley. He had seized the torn parchment from the fire the moment she had left, studying the page greedily, focussing on her familiar handwriting as much as the message contained within. The coding against the ingredients had proven to be nothing more sinister than _Hobson's Fourth_, the basic Arithmancy key used in developing potions. Anybody with the slightest advanced training would have recognised it for what it was.

There had been no question of not brewing the potion. He had gathered those ingredients voraciously, brewing at night when even Moody had retired to his chambers, carefully crafting the potion carried back to him through time itself. While he had been able to guess at its properties, it wasn't until after he had finally obeyed Voldemort's summons to that derelict graveyard and made his obeisance to his old master, his eyes fixed on the massive snake by his side, that he had realised the purpose of the brew.

Rising swiftly, he crossed to Dumbledore's portrait and retrieved a vial of the yellow potion. More waited in the careful hands of a house-elf, ready to be delivered to the infirmary the instant it was required. The elf was under strict instructions not to admit its existence until the moment it was needed.

Having had no chance to test the potion he hadn't dared administer it to the gravely ill Mr Weasley until the very last moment, when all other hope seemed lost. That it worked had been a miracle. The side effects were odd. Perhaps she had sought to alleviate the symptoms but had, in her lack of experience with complex potions, somehow managed to exacerbate them instead. Still, without proper anti-venom it was the best hope his students had should the worst happen.

He saved the final memory for last. The memory of her returning to him so that he might not be alone as his death approached. For that surely was why she had come? What other reason had she returned after her mission to deliver the potion had been completed? She might not have been aware of it but the spell that bound her would have known. It seemed unlikely that it would have granted him those final moments of clemency.

Perhaps he hadn't quite understood the depth and complexity of his feelings for her before then, indeed, it would have been hard to examine something he kept locked so deep away inside himself. Hermione Granger was an awkward subject that his mind tended to skirt away from, almost as much as it wished to examine her. Emma might not exist for much longer, but in those moments she had been his. And she had loved him. The feeling might not last long beyond her escape from the spell but until that moment she was his.

Not that it mattered. His time was fast running out. Voldemort had already warned his followers that Potter might try to re-enter the school. Death would soon be at the very gates of Hogwarts and he understood that he was too deeply embroiled in Dumbledore's plan for the Greater Good to be allowed to survive the confrontation that was rapidly approaching.

He pushed the maudlin thoughts aside. Fear and self-pity would not help him now. There would be plenty of time for those after his final task was complete. For now, he needed to speak to Potter and, if the Dark Lord's understanding of the boy was correct, he would soon make his own way towards the school.

Until then he was free to sit and examine each memory in turn, twisting the glass this way and that as he remembered the feel of her curls between his fingers. Soft and full with a scent like elderflower and citrus. The softness of her skin. The taste of her mouth beneath his. Soon he would have to lock each memory tightly away again but, until then, she was his once more.

-x-

The sudden burn in his left arm almost caused him to drop the vial. So, Alecto had sighted Harry Potter. Slipping the glass into his pocket, he hastily returned his memories to their safe home and ran through his plans in his mind. Overpowering Alecto would be easy, but there was always the danger that her brother would be lurking close by. Persuading Potter to trust him would be the hard part, but hopefully he could trick the boy into sneaking into the Headmaster's Office and letting Albus deliver the bad news himself. Perhaps he could get to Potter through his friends, have the Granger girl speak to him instead.

His best hope was that the castle was empty that night. Any student caught wandering the halls was likely to lose more than house points.

Straightening his robes, he nodded curtly to Dumbledore's portrait and pushed his chair back under his desk. He had prepared for this moment, the room ready to receive its next incumbent, his personal possessions tided or destroyed. There was no point leaving a will. The few he might name were going to be at the forefront of the coming battle. It would likely be a waste of ink.

The torches were lit in the sconces and the hallways were silent, save for the soft tread of his boots. He had always loved this time at Hogwarts, the students abed, the torchlight casting its soft glow throughout the corridors. Even now, on his way to deliver a death sentence, he could feel the age-old benevolence of the castle surrounding him and appreciate the austere beauty of its faded stones.

The Carrows proved oddly elusive, and it had been Minerva whom he had eventually encountered speeding through the deserted corridors, throwing the occasional glance over her shoulder to the empty space behind. She had been hostile, as she had been all year, but her swiftly dispatched curse had still been unexpected enough to nearly catch him.

Even as he parried her increasingly ferocious attacks, he still scanned the corridor beyond for signs of Potter or his friends. Minerva's interference was horribly timed, but it must not distract him from reaching the boy. He didn't wish to stun her, too aware of the damage done to her just two years previously, when she had intervened to help Hagrid against then Headmistress Umbridge, but he would if forced to. The decision was taken from him when Filius and Pomona arrived, with Horace not far behind. He was no longer parrying hexes but now fighting in earnest for his life. Flitwick had been a champion dueller in his day and, although somewhat rusty, was still a dangerous enemy on his own. Four against one were a madman's odds and Severus found himself forced to flee.

He had half expected to come under attack from the amassing body of Death Eaters beyond the school's boundaries as he landed gracefully before them. Many backed away, apparently awed by the display of rare magic. Even Bella held her tongue, content with simply sneering at him. Flying required a certain focus and discipline that she lacked. As the only two the Dark Lord had confided in, her failure with that particular piece of magic had driven another wedge between them. He gazed at her impassively until she was forced to look away. She was unlikely to issue any challenges to her fellows now, not when all knew of her disgrace. It would make her extra deadly to those within the school.

He took his place silently within the ranks and awaited the start of the war. He had known many of those present since childhood. He was uncertain if any of his generation were likely to live to old age. So many had fallen in the first war and those that remained seemed eager to throw away their lives in the second. It made him sadder than he had thought possible and he roughly pushed the mawkish thoughts away. He had little sentiment left for any of those standing beside him; even the Malfoys were no longer the family he had once felt a part of, yet all of them had once held so much promise. Even Bella had once been a reasonably bright schoolgirl who made friends easily before she had taken up the Dark Lord's bidding. Each of their stories must have held some secret sadness that they were stood here tonight, ready to die on the whim of a madman, ready to destroy the very building that had once represented so many of their hopes and dreams.

He shook himself. His carefully controlled emotions were simply seeking another outlet and it was unwise to allow them. He had much to accomplish in the next few hours, including somehow persuading the Dark Lord to allow him to be the one to capture Potter. He knew that if he could just have a few precious moments with the boy, he would be able to convey the dreadful message Dumbledore had charged him with. There was also the small matter of helping to attack the only place he had ever felt at home and somehow protecting the occupants within while maintaining his cover.

"Where are the Carrows?"

"They were taken captive by the teachers. Potter is inside but I was intercepted before I managed to reach him."

Cold red eyes flicked across his face and Severus had to fight the urge to shudder. With maybe only hours left in the serpent's service, it was becoming harder to hold onto his careful mask. Their eyes met and he willingly held up the memory of Minerva, Filius and Pomona moving to attack him. The brush of mind against his was coldly furious, but also thoughtful. He was planning something. Too late he realised he had allowed the thought to form before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had pulled from his mind.

"Lord Voldemort is always planning something, Severus. Go, join the ranks but do not attempt to re-enter the school. I wish to keep my generals close by."

"My Lord."

What followed seemed to make no sense at the time, yet would remain seared into his mind. The attack upon the school, the mindless violence. By the time Voldemort's supporters had all arrived, even Severus was shocked by their numbers. He doubted even half of them bore the Mark and had probably been delayed arriving by what ever other form of summons they had received. He had hoped so much that it might never have to come to this, that Potter might have succeeded in defeating the Dark Lord without the need for massive carnage. These were not the elite few; they were a rabble of Snatchers and delinquents, looters and thugs. It sickened him that they might be allowed to approach his school.

While firing spells towards the school at random, he considered the speculative brush of Voldemort's mind. Then man was planning something concerning him, he was certain, and he had an idea of what it might be. He had been the one to allow him onto the school grounds the night Dumbledore's tomb had been desecrated, after all. He had known that Ollivander had been taken captive after Potter's wand had somehow defeated both his and later Lucius' borrowed wand.

Severus knew his history. He had chosen to immerse himself in the wizarding world and had taken great interest in the myriad myths and stories that pure-bloods were aware of from the cradle, as well as the personal stories of those he worked with. Dumbledore's wand had been taken from Grindelwald after their famous duel. In his study of the Dark Arts, Severus had become well acquainted with Grindelwald's tale, too, and the whispers amongst his followers that he carried a wand that could not be defeated. If the Dark Lord truly believed he held the Elder Wand then he must also be aware of the legend attached to it.

He realised he still had the small vial of potion tucked inside his robes. It would need disposing of before it was discovered. Could he risk simply dropping it to the ground and rely on those around him to crush it? But not yet. He could feel Bella's eyes upon him, boring into his exposed back. Hating himself for it, he redoubled his attack on the wards of the school. The giants arrived and the north battlements fell. Death Eaters began to stream forwards.

Suddenly Narcissa was beside him. "Draco is inside," she hissed, her voice breaking over the final syllable.

"They'll be evacuating the children," he assured her, but she shook her head.

"He's gone to fetch Potter. He thinks he can save us." She grabbed his free hand. "He's trapped in there, Severus!"

"Calm yourself," he murmured, attempting to gently shake himself free.

"Lucius has gone to beg clemency for him but I don't - You have to find him! You're the only one He trusts now - I know He'll let you search the castle."

He studied her distraught face, her haughty manner and her beauty crumbling as once more her son's life was risked for the family's honour. He knew as well as she did that the Dark Lord would care nothing for Draco's safety now that he was so close to reaching his goal of finally destroying Harry Potter.

-x-

There was little he could do but watch the carnage unfold. The school, though valiantly protecting those inside, seemed ready to collapse in upon itself with the next curse or explosion. The noise was terrible and the flashing of spells made it difficult to see clearly. The north end of the castle was almost completely hidden behind the dust of fallen masonry. His home for almost thirty years was being razed to the ground.

The silence of the ceasefire seemed somehow louder than the battle. The still night air carried the screams of pain and grief clearly across the valley, the intermittent wails threatening to shatter the precarious peace with their pain.

He was not surprised when Lucius appeared to convey the Dark Lord's summons, yet he was aggrieved by the man's appearance. He had watched the Malfoys suffer much over the last couple of years, but the hollowness of his eyes spoke of complete resignation and defeat. It was hard to believe the man before him was less than a decade older than himself.

"Did he say what he required?"

"No, and I know better than to ask."

He wished there was some encouragement he could offer, but now was not the time. They both knew that Draco was as good as dead already.

-x-

The walk to the Shrieking Shack was not a long one yet his legs seemed incapable of carrying him with their usual swiftness. His limbs felt heavy and difficult to move, his hands almost numb. He bunched his hands into fists inside the long sleeves of his robe lest any of those watching should see them shake. He had risked death before on countless occasions. He had never set out to meet it until now.

Dumbledore had never confided in him about the Elder Wand. Perhaps he had hoped that Snape would discover the truth on his own or perhaps he simply did not expect Voldemort to make the connection between the Deathstick and the elegant, obviously antique wand that Dumbledore had carried since Grindelwald's defeat. Maybe he had worried that Severus would let the information slip. Perhaps he had simply believed that Severus would never have agreed to end the headmaster's life knowing it would seal his own fate.

Harry Potter would soon be coming to meet Voldemort face to face, Severus was certain of it. The Dark Lord understood the boy well enough to know that such a challenge would not go unanswered. Yet the issue of the way the boy's wand reacted to Voldemort's magic remained. Ollivander was unlikely to have spent all those hours in the Malfoy cellar without describing how one gained mastery over the Wand of Destiny.

At the entrance to the Shack he stopped, drawing deep breaths into his lungs as he tried to centre himself. Perhaps he had simply been summoned to fulfil some errand or another. Perhaps he was about to be sent into the castle to retrieve the boy himself. It would do him no good to panic now.

He pushed his hands into his pockets as he leant against the doorjamb and concentrated on bringing his shields up, locking the fear away. All he needed was a little more time.

His fingers closed around the smooth glass in his pocket and he frowned. He should have found time to dispose of the potion; it was far too risky to carry anything that so blatantly symbolised his double role into a meeting with the Dark Lord. There had been no reason to bring the damned thing with him, save perhaps a sentimental unwillingness to leave all that he cherished behind. In a swift movement he flicked the cap from the vial and drank the sour mixture, dropping and grinding the glass beneath his boot.

-x-

It was a mistake.

He could feel the slow sedative in the potion already beginning to do its work, making it impossible to think clearly. He felt almost detached from the role he played in the conversation he had dreaded, the arguments for his return to the castle seeming to drip from him with all the force of a leaking tap. Concentrating was made harder still by the malignant presence of Nagini, the great fanged snake watching his every move from within some sort of protective sphere.

"_**Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?**_

It was the question he had dreaded, yet Severus could not drag his eyes away from the giant serpent.

"_**I sought a third wand, Severus."**_

A potion to protect him from Nagini. Yet the snake was locked safely away.

"_**I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore**_**."**

He dragged his eyes away from the snake and turned them to the real danger in the room. His own death sentence was written large in those fearsome red eyes.

"_**My Lord**_**,"** he tried one last time, knowing that he had already failed. **"**_**Let me go to the boy**_**-"**

The request was denied as expected and he watched, feeling every ounce of courage he had ever been able to call upon fleeing him at last, as the Dark Lo- No, let him be Riddle now, now that all plans had failed and all hope was lost. As _Riddle_ raised his wand to deliver the Killing Curse. He made no move to defend himself as Dumbledore's wand slashed down, didn't even close his eyes.

He felt nothing. No pain, no relief. Whatever spell it had been had either not worked or not been directed at him.

Movement flickered in the corner of his eye as Nagini once more filled his vision, the starry sphere that held her slipping over his head and shoulders like water, bringing him close to her powerful coils and those long, curved fangs.

The bite itself was painful but not unbearable, despite the strength of those unnatural jaws. The true agony began as he felt the venom of her fangs enter his blood stream and begin its foul journey through his body. It burnt like acid in his throat, his shoulders and face already surrendering to the barrage of pain.

He thought perhaps he screamed. He must have fallen because suddenly the snake was gone and he was watching Riddle's retreating figure from the dusty floor. Then Potter was there, staring at him with those vacant green eyes, so alike and yet so different to his mother's. Potter, the one person he would have given anything to see, suddenly kneeling beside him on the dirty floor. He snatched at him, not daring to hope he was really there until his fingers closed on the boy's robes, trying to force his tongue to overcome the growing numbness of the potion or the paralysis of the venom and feeling the strength seeping from him along with the blood that was already soaking his robes, sticking the heavy cloth to his chest.

Frustrated, he ripped his shields away and allowed his memories to pour from him, memories that he had guarded for so long, spilling from him with wild abandon as he finally fulfilled his duty.

He could feel his grip on the boy's cloak beginning to weaken as his blood seemed to flow unabated from the wound in his neck. The pain was receding now but the awful numbness seemed to be growing. Already he could not feel his legs and he could feel the muscles in his face beginning to slacken. He suddenly remembered all the extra vials of blood replenisher the Healers had been forced to administer to Arthur Weasley and his growing weakness began to make perfect sense.

Blind to Potter and the one that had produced the flask to capture his memories, he allowed himself a final weakness. Sinking deep within his shields he felt the world recede.

_He made his way towards the shady clearing in the woods, the sound of the stream soothing away the last of his fear. There were birds singing somewhere and a gentle breeze was stirring the leaves around him, a strange and sudden peace inside his heart. _

This time, the clearing wouldn't be empty.

This time, he knew Emma would be there.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

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><p>Loneliness wasn't such a terrible cost, not really. Not for his life. Not for this freedom of sorts.<p>

An empty house on an empty street. For the most part, it was peaceful. Occasionally, the silence might become too oppressive, the dusty air of the decaying house suddenly too thin to breathe but, mostly, he was content.

For months now there had been no contact with the wizarding world. When he had first arrived back at his childhood home, he had spent his little remaining strength hastily warding the house against visitors and hiding or destroying any possessions that might have further incriminated him. Then and only then did he allow himself to collapse. When he had finally awoken he had dragged himself from room to room, strengthening and overlaying each ward with more enchantments before doctoring himself with the meagre supply of potions he had been able to smuggle out of the school during his final months as headmaster.

Blood loss had been the biggest concern. The wound on his neck had closed by the time the burning in his forearm had wrenched him from unconsciousness, but the untended bleeding had left him weak and disorientated. Staggering out into the pink dawn light, he had Apparated clumsily, splinching himself from thigh to knee. By some miracle, the wound had missed the major blood vessels, but the additional bleeding had slowed his recovery painfully.

He had been weak for days. Every morning he awoke expecting the Aurors to arrive. Every night he placed fresh wards around the house until it almost glowed in the darkened street. Once he was strong enough, he had snuck down the street under a Disillusionment Charm to place further spells around his home, charms that would warn him the moment someone came close to his property.

By the end of the first week, he had been able to sleep for more than a handful of hours at a time. He still jolted awake at the slightest sound, but he allowed himself to relax by just a fraction. He readied himself to flee at a moment's notice, checking and double-checking his escape routes, making careful plan after plan for his flight.

By the end of the second week, hunger and the need to leave Spinner's End, if only for a few hours, drove him out into the world. He Apparated to a town on the outskirts of Liverpool, just in case he was spotted, and had braved the clamour of a Muggle supermarket, stocking up on as much food as would fit inside the trolley. The woman at the till had barely looked at him as she scanned his purchases and didn't even bat an eyelid when he handed over the hundred and seventy-odd pounds in used notes. For one mad moment he wondered if he had forgotten to fully cancel the Disillusionment Charm he had taken to wearing each time he left the house. The moment ended when the woman returned his change, her eyes flicking contemptuously over his long, ill-kempt hair as she thanked him, the words tripping from her with bored detachment as she dismissed him.

It had taken him a full ten minutes before he was calm enough to Disapparate. Rather than messing with Lightening or Shrinking Charms, he had simply taken the entire trolley with him, Apparating directly through his wards into the little backyard. He carefully extended the shelf life of every item he had bought before stowing each item away. By the time he had finished, he'd found he wasn't as hungry as he had believed, and had slunk upstairs to rest.

-x-

The first time his wards had been tripped, he had been dozing in the old armchair, his chin resting heavily against his chest. Adrenalin had coursed through his system as he readied himself for whatever was coming, peering out through the gap in the dusty curtains to the gloomy street beyond.

The gang of laughing Muggle boys had simply strolled past, taking a short cut perhaps, or looking for whatever sport young men find amongst derelict properties. He watched until they disappeared from view, the whole while expecting the sound of breaking glass or the smell of fire.

Finally, after an hour at the window, he allowed himself to sit back down.

No one was coming.

It had been three weeks since he had abandoned his post as Headmaster of Hogwarts to die in a tumbledown building on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Every day he had expected and dreaded the arrival of some representative of the wizarding world, either to bring him in for questioning and sentencing or, as he dreamed in his more maudlin moments, to thank him for the part he had played in the war. It was a fool's hope; the true nature of his actions during the war were known only by Dumbledore and Harry Potter, both deceased.

Perhaps Potter would have left his memories in the Pensieve before choosing to face his death and finally allowing the Dark - _allowing_ _Riddle_ - to be destroyed. His stomach clenched each time he thought about what he must have allowed the boy to see. It had all been so confused. The idea that others might have access to those memories, even if it could mean some leniency towards him, made him feel sick. The idea that _she_ might have-

He pushed the thought away. Even if his memories had been viewed by the entire readership of the_ Prophet_ it hadn't changed the fact that not one person had thought to try and find him.

He had been forgotten.

-x-

Time and silence undermined his best efforts not to dwell upon his situation. He found himself thinking constantly about the world he had left behind. The pain that had roused him in the Shack had been enough to convince him that Tom Riddle's unnatural life had finally come to a close. He had no idea of the true cost of the war.

It would have been a simple thing, perhaps, to venture out into the world in search of information. Simple, had he not feared the answers he might find.

When the architects had arrived he realised that even this time of quiet solitude would not be allowed to continue long. Impenetrable wards were no longer practical and he had dropped them one by one. Soon, all that was left was the early warning should someone stray onto his street.

He revised his plans, making new strategies for when the time came to leave. He put off packing away his meagre possessions and watched serenely as the landscape around him began to change.

-x-

The first time she had torn through his house in search of him, it had been almost impossible to stand and hide in silence, scarcely daring to breathe lest the glimmer of the spell give him away.

He had thrown up the usual enchantments the moment he had sensed her presence, certain that she would be just another architect or town planner. Part of him had hoped that the tug on his wards might have been caused by the final arrival of the large crane that had been edging ever closer to his old street as the demolition crew moved forward. The brief flicker of magic before his door had burst open had set his heart hammering in his chest, and he had watched, dry-mouthed, as Emma had stumbled across the threshold.

He had frozen, unable to do anything but stand and stare as her frightened eyes had taken in the derelict nature of his home. He felt an odd embarrassment that she should see it in such a state, and strange irritation that she had not sensed the careful layer of magic that gave it that appearance. Mostly, however, he was aware of just how much he had longed to see her.

It had been impossible, in the long months in which he had hidden away in his childhood home, having crawled away from his own death unnoticed and apparently unmourned, not to wonder where she was. She had promised him - _promised_ - that she would come back to this little house to find him the moment she was free from the spell, just as he had promised her that he would stay and wait for her. As the weeks had turned into months, his mind had conjured reason after reason for her continued absence. The worst was that the untested, dangerous spell had caused her to dissipate, as it had so many others before her. That was the worst fear, but oddly it was not the idea that kept him awake at night, that had prevented him from seeking her out, himself.

There were many good reasons for not trying to find her once his strength had returned. He had no idea where she lived, for a start. Searching for her would have meant exposing himself to the wizarding world, and he still had no idea what his reception was likely to be. The shock of meeting a man she believed she had seen die would have been awful for her. Seeing her before the spell had been attempted might mean that she would never enter its coils at all. It might mean his death.

Worse, it might mean all those memories of her would never have been formed.

Those were simply excuses, though. Mostly, he was afraid of how she would feel towards him once her memories had been restored. Her feelings towards him when she was caught in the spell would not survive long once she remembered who he truly was. He wasn't sure he could bear her hatred.

He had thought that perhaps those brief hours they had spent together when he had been Headmaster had been the spell allowing him just a few moments more with her once her reason for casting the spell had been fulfilled. Learning that it had been about _him_ all along had been what had sustained him ever since. He could only hope that whatever had prompted her to seek justice on his behalf would still be strong enough to let her forgive him, given time.

He was under no illusion that Hermione Granger had loved him. She might have felt pity for him, had she viewed his memories. Maybe Potter had revealed his true allegiance to her before heading out to meet his destiny. Perhaps Potter had somehow survived - for why else would she spend her efforts seeking justice for Professor Snape, instead? No, he was a project for her, a cause to be championed. She had wanted justice for him, nothing more.

No, _this_ brief glimpse of Emma was the spell's final gift to him. He knew that if he were to remove his glamour, she would fly straight to his side. She would smile that smile she had always saved for him, a curious mixture of joy, relief and love.

He yearned for that look. He longed for the suddenness with which she would cross the room to dash into his arms. She would hold him; he knew that, maybe even dare to kiss him. The last living touch he had received had been from the snake. It made his throat ache as he realised how much he had missed the way she had always reached for him, the way her fingers seemed made to twine with his.

Yet something held him still.

He watched in silence as she darted through to the kitchen before returning to scramble at the books until she found the catch to the door for the stairs. He listened to her footsteps, the old boards creaking as she stumbled from room to room.

He wondered how she might react to seeing his old bedroom. He had taken savage satisfaction in systematically dismantling and destroying the magically enlarged bed they had only shared twice, his anger and embarrassment at her rejection causing him to gut the little room. His rage had lasted barely as long as the summer storm that had preceded it, but by then the damage had been done. He had closed the door to the little room and moved into his parents' old room, refusing to regret his actions. He'd had cause to be grateful when, some twenty years later, Wormtail had been sent to shadow him. Having the disgusting little man inhabit the room was made bearable by the fact that no trace of Emma remained for him to defile with his touch.

By the time she returned downstairs, she was sobbing, her shoulders heaving as she held onto the wall for support. It was the display of grief he had been waiting for, yet knowing he was the cause filled him with regret.

By the time he finally found his voice she had already begun to flicker.

-x-

He had felt the approach in enough time to throw the hasty glamour over the house, hiding any signs of recent habitation. There had been more and more visits to the street recently, areas being cordoned off, and lorries backing noisily down the too-narrow street.

The knock at the door surprised him. He had thought he had been circumspect enough to remain unseen but there was always the chance the occasional glimpse of light through the curtains would have been enough to give him away. The flash of magic that followed caused him to react just as before, freezing like a rabbit startled by a fox, pulling his glamour around him like a cloak.

Last time, the grubby jeans and the creased top had been enough to convince him she was still caught in her time loop. But now, now she was dressed in silk and velvet, her hair elegantly twisted back. She had returned.

Her memory had returned too, no doubt.

Memories of a cruel, demanding teacher; memories of a Death Eater; memories of a murderer and a traitor. Memories of a man who had stood in a position of authority and yet still used her memory-loss to bed her. Who had willingly slept with a student when she hadn't known who he was. Who _she_ was. Who had listened to her naive declarations of love.

He willed himself to utter stillness.

There was no frenzied search this time. She simply sank down onto the battered sofa, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

"How could you?" she asked the silent room. "Why would you?" She drew her knees up to her chest, lowered her head and began to cry.

There it was. The response he had dreaded, but had known all along was his due.

He forced himself to stand there and listen to each quiet sob as her heart seemed to break. He accepted the stab of pain each muffled cry brought to his own chest, accepted it as his due.

This was his last act of penance.

His dues to the wizarding world had been paid in sweat and blood. The debt he owed this sobbing slip of a girl still burdened his soul. Perhaps watching silently as she realised the depths of his betrayal, letting each and every accusation fall undefended, would go some small way to mitigate the damage he had done.

It was cruel, he knew, to allow her to believe she had failed. Hermione Granger had not been a girl who easily accepted defeat, but he could not bring himself to move. Better she put the whole sorry affair behind her and move on with the rest of her life. She was so very young; she would recover. It was so very bitter-sweet to know that she was alive and well, but that Emma was irrevocably lost to him. There had been so little hope that she might have been able to forgive him, to still think of him as warmly as before, but it had kept him waiting in the shell of his old home, just in case.

He was free now. He would leave, perhaps leave the country, try and escape the past that still held him firmly in its grasp. Emma was gone; he could accept that now.

She looked like Emma though, so different from the school girl who had tended to Potter like an acolyte. The hardship of the war and the months spent in hiding had robbed her face of its childish roundness and left a graceful young woman behind. Despite her reliance on him when she was caught in the spell, and despite her obvious fragility now, there was a steeliness to her, a hidden strength belying each tear. Yes, she would survive their strange encounters, even if he would not. She would survive and she would flourish.

He let himself carefully catalogue what little he could observe of her from his position by the fireplace. The tumble of curls swept back from her face, her cheekbones slightly more pronounced than he remembered, her knuckles whitening as she tightened her grip on her wand.

He felt a fleeting panic for her safety as she raised her wand before she lifted her eyes to the room and spoke once more, this time her voice clear and carrying.

"How could you let me believe you were dead?"

The wand dipped as she incanted the spell through his dreary house.

_"Finite Omnia Incantatum!"_

The worst traces of disuse fell from his home. It was still a neglected, shabby mess, but now his footprints in the dust were clearly visible, as were the dirty cups that littered the table.

In the same breath his Disillusionment Charm flickered, then failed.

Her reddened eyes found his immediately, her wand rising to point unerringly at his chest.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

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><p>It was as she had feared.<p>

Now that she was calmer, she could feel the cool tingle of magic against her skin. It must have been there the last time she had entered these rooms, but she had been unable to feel anything beyond the painful thudding in her chest and the growing ache in her throat. The subtle brush of magic, too well concealed to be obvious, was still detectable to one whose senses had been fine tuned through months of checking every new place for signs of hostile enchantments.

There were probably wards in place to detect people arriving, even if there weren't wards to keep people out. It would have been impossible to avoid detection in a too-heavily warded house given the number of Muggle visitors it recently would have received. Had the house been Secret-Kept, it would have been another matter, but even that would not have protected it long from the bulldozers.

Instead, he had simply hidden himself away. Perhaps he was not there now, but there was a careful glamour in place preventing her from seeing _something_.

Had he been there that last time? Had he watched her as she searched for him in vain? What had stopped him from showing himself? She had hardly dared to think of that time, the _one_ time that the spell had failed to take her to him. Like the snowy day or the dark dormitory, she had been so sure that it was just a matter of finding him. Had his anger not thrown her untimely from the spell, she was sure she would have returned again and maybe again until she took whatever action was necessary to find him. All those lost opportunities to see him that she hadn't dared to dwell on in case she found that she couldn't stop. All those times that she had pored over her careful calculations wondering, not only where she had caused the spell to evolve, but how she might be able to cast herself back in. Had time and Ginny not convinced her to turn her attention back to the real world, she might have attempted just that.

She had mourned him. Twice. Once for the teacher and misunderstood hero of the war, and then again later, for the man she had come to know and to love.

She was crying again, unable to stop herself. She had hoped that the last few painful weeks would have used up all the tears she could give, but apparently she was wrong. What made it worse was that she had no idea which emotion was making her cry this time; there was just too many of them. She was so certain that she had every reason to be hopeful, yet the lick of his magic against her own was making her nervous. She felt relieved, slightly terrified of what she might find, but most of all she was angry. It was the anger that eventually drove her to speak.

"Why would you?" she had wondered. Why let her go through all that? Even if he did not wish to continue their strange friendship now that the real danger to him had passed? "How could you let me believe you were dead?"

When the glamour fell away, she was startled and saddened to find him standing just a few feet away, his arms wrapped tightly round his chest. She automatically trained her wand, trying desperately to hold it steady.

He was alive.

He was_ alive._

Silence stretched between them as they stared at one another. Him, warily as if he expected her to strike at any moment. Her, in growing shock despite the certainty she had felt the moment she had realised the spell had carried her to his house _after the war_. To a moment in his life when she was needed, _after_ his supposed death.

How was it possible to feel this desperately happy and yet so bitterly betrayed at the same time? To want nothing more than to throw her arms around him and never let him go, yet also to shake him and scream at him until he understood just how much she had suffered because of him?

Realising she still held her wand against him, she lowered her arm, balling her hands into tight fists to stop them from shaking.

_He was alive_.

She could almost hear Emma hissing in her ear; "Go to him, you fool! Tell him you love him!" Because she did, despite everything that had happened - perhaps because of what had happened - Hermione Granger loved the defeated, tired looking man standing in front of her wearing a carefully impassive look on his face, awaiting her judgement.

She loved him, but while Emma would have run to him and thrown her arms around him, Hermione could only stand there, rooted to the spot. She loved him, but she was desperately unsure of how he felt towards her. He had never declared himself as she had. He had let her believe that he was gone.

She searched desperately for something, _anything_, to break the awful silence that stretched between them, scared that each moment she wasted saw him slipping further from her reach.

"Was it the potion?"

It was ridiculously inadequate. So many questions teeming to be heard and she, Hermione Granger, had chosen to focus on whether or not her work had been appreciated.

If Snape was aware of her confusion, he gave no sign of it. He simply stood there, arms still crossed defensively, and nodded. "I didn't realise it was meant for me. Not until the very end."

So he knew.

It _had_ been her that had saved him. The time spent working on the spell, the endless moment caught inside its clutches; all of it had been worth it. Yet why did it feel as if nothing had changed? How, knowing what he did, could he continue to look at her as though she was a stranger?

She had wondered how it would feel to see both Severus and Professor Snape inhabiting the same body. Truthfully, she'd never been able to reconcile them as two sides of the same man. Watching him now, she realised that there was nothing left in his face that she recognised, not Snape's disdain or anger, nor Severus' uncertain hope. She hadn't seen him so empty since the day she had found him collapsed in his office following the first fall of Voldemort, when his cold, unseeing eyes had led her to believe the worst.

Her mind recalled another memory, one she usually shied away from unless caught in the grip of the nightmares that had followed the battle to secure Hogwarts and end the Second War; the memory of the light dying from his eyes as he had lain, bloodied and forgotten on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

Even here, standing in front of him, the memory proved her undoing. Overwhelmed, she let herself collapse back onto the sofa, feeling the ancient springs complain beneath her weight. Her fingers bunched themselves into the material of her robes as she let her eyes drop to the dirty floor that divided them.

"I saw you die." It came out choked, little more than a whisper, but in the silence of his house she might as well have shouted.

"I very nearly did."

She made a feeble attempt to brush the dust from her robes. It caught in the nap of the velvet, and she was forced to use her wand to lift it free. When she trusted her voice she looked up once more.

"Who else knows you're here?"

"No one."

"But the Malfoys-" she began, halting as his inscrutable mask suddenly broke, his mouth tensing and his brows tightening at the name. "They survived," she hurried. "I would have thought you might have turned to them. Mrs Malfoy pretended that Harry was dead so that Voldemort would have them enter the school and she could find Draco. They're under house arrest still, but many of the charges have been dropped. They've lost a lot of their influence, but Harry tells me Lucius still carries a lot of sway-"

She stopped again. "Harry survived," she confirmed. "Do you not know any of this?"

"No."

"After you died, Harry watched your memories. He went to meet Voldemort and let him attempt to murder him. Somehow it destroyed the last link between the two of them, and Harry survived. When they fought, Harry had mastery over the Elder Wand and-" She sighed. "It's too confusing a story to tell in one go. Suffice to say we lost an awful lot of friends, but ultimately we triumphed. The losses on both sides were horrific."

Watching him, she could see that his face had returned to that careful blankness.

Had she dared to imagine this moment, she was certain that none of her fantasies would have been at all like this. This awkward, stilted reunion was not what she had expected as she had run breathless from the Memorial Ball. It was almost worse than facing his anger when he had managed to throw her from the spell. It was worse than his terrible resignation during his time as headmaster. Nothing seemed to touch him for more than a moment. The news about the Malfoys seemed to have affected him more deeply than the fact that she had returned for him.

His lack of knowledge about the war both surprised and troubled her. It had to be through choice; nothing else would have prevented Dumbledore's spy from discovering the truth. Yet why would he turn his back on his former life only to stay in the decaying wreck of his former home?

"Why are you still here?" she asked at length.

He dropped his gaze then, his eyes falling to the floor. "I promised I would stay."

She knew then that she only had to claim him, and he would be hers. She had never met a man so bound by his promises. It must have been over twenty years since she had made him promise to remain in this house, and yet here he was. His body had made a different sort of pledge to her when he had let himself respond to her kisses. She would only have to appeal to his honour or his loneliness, and he would bind himself to her.

If only it _were_ that simple.

Admitting love now would help neither of them. They would feel obligated to rekindle their bizarre romance, regardless of the impossibility of such a relationship. Him, defeated and neglected, suspicious and needy all at once. Her, still confused about what it was that she needed and - as her relationships with Ron and Adam had proved - still woefully inexperienced at balancing the emotional needs of others with her own standards, her own goals, and her own fragility after the war.

She loved him, but watching him now she realised that neither of them was what the other truly needed. Without the influence of the spell, real life would intrude all too quickly and hurt all the more given their understanding of one another.

It was _Emma_ that he had needed, not Hermione Granger. Emma would not have wasted a single moment before rushing to him. Hermione had talked until it felt as if all the air had fled from the room. Even now she was wondering how Ron and Harry would react to her role in Snape's survival and who she was obliged to inform of his whereabouts.

It was Emma that he needed, just as it was Severus that she wanted. There seemed to be no trace of him left in the carefully controlled features of Professor Snape.

It was too much. She wanted too many different things. And what she wanted was probably wildly at odds with what she needed. She couldn't think straight. Everything seemed to be sending her in dizzying circles of thought.

A further thought crept in; another memory that she had wished to forget. In the Shack, it had been Lily's eyes he had wished to see, not hers.

He flinched as she stood, the tiny movement hurting more than if he had slapped her.

She held herself as straight as possible as she smoothed the skirt of her robe, suddenly conscious of how ridiculously overdressed she must appear, and aware of how desperately she wanted to just go home. Part of her wondered if he would ask her to stay.

"I have to go."

He watched her leave in silence.


	28. Chapter 28

_With very sincere thanks to **heartmom88** and **ofankoma. **Without their help this storu would be a far, far lesser thing. Love you!_

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Eight<strong>

* * *

><p>She had intended to go home.<p>

She wandered from the empty street down the little lane towards the canal. She had some vague idea of using the cover provided by the bridge to Disapparate, desperate to simply escape and return to the world she had accepted as hers. She had mourned him twice already; it seemed bitterly unfair that she was to lose him again.

There had been no trace of Severus in Snape's harsh features. He'd looked well enough, she supposed; the hazarded potion had obviously done its job. He was thin, possibly thinner than she remembered him being, but otherwise he seemed fine. Still dressed in shirt and waistcoat despite the dilapidated state of the house, his hair the longest she had ever seen it, he had seemed completely recovered. Yet his black eyes had betrayed so little after his initial shock at being discovered, the only flicker of emotion being over the fate of the Malfoys.

Reaching the end of the street she found her way barred by another metal barrier. Using her wand to help squeeze through one of the gaps, she gaped at the destruction beyond. What had been a little terrace just like the Snapes' was now reduced to several large piles of rubble, the old street gouged clear of its cobbles. The distinctive smell of building dust filled the air, unpleasant and final.

She picked her way carefully past the exposed foundations and piles of timber towards the end of the street. From her elevation she could see the roofs over what appeared to be several new buildings already springing up where further rows of housing had been. The old mill's chimney stack no longer dominated the skyline; instead, perhaps a mile away, stood three new tower blocks of flats.

Hermione dropped her eyes back to the ground. Although she couldn't be sure, those flats looked perilously close to the little patch of woodland where Severus had taken her after the distressing visit to Ollivander's.

After a moment's consideration she turned and made her way back through the gap in the high fencing, holding her robe closely to prevent it from snagging, and walked the long way back to the canal.

-x-

On reaching the water's edge, she paused. While Spinner's End had yet to be demolished, it appeared that the regeneration work had already reached the canal. The path to the side of the canal had been cleared, and it looked like the water had been dredged. It was pretty.

It was quiet, too. The ducks had gone; no doubt scared away by the work going on around them. While the noise of the ducks in the park by her home had made her dreadfully nostalgic, the absence of it here troubled her. She made her way to the bridge, suspecting that she might find them there, but it was clean and oddly empty.

She hadn't paid attention the last time she was there, nor honestly the time before that. She would estimate that it had been the early to mid-eighties when she had visited Severus as a young man in his twenties. In the following years, it would seem as if everything had come undone. Soon Spinner's End would be gone, and the entire world she had shared with Severus would no longer exist.

It was beautiful beside the water now. The walk beside the canal would be lovely.

She hated it.

She turned and walked in the other direction, desperate to find something she recognised.

-x-

It was all so confusing. Even if she was to accept that _Severus_ was gone - and she wasn't certain that she could - it didn't change the fact that _Snape_ was alive, and about to be made homeless. That wasn't the sort of information that you just kept to yourself. What if something were to happen to him? She would never be able to live with herself if, yet again, she were to stand idly by when she could have done something to help. But did she honestly have the right to inform anybody that Snape had survived? Which was more important, that he receive the thanks and forgiveness that he deserved or that he be allowed to keep his anonymity?

How would she explain her connection to him? Much as she might resent it, she had a high profile, thanks to her exploits with Harry. There was little chance of maintaining some sort of a relationship with the man without it becoming common knowledge. And there still was the question of how her friends would react. Harry might have come to terms with the _memory_ of Snape but there was no telling how long it would be before years of ingrained hatred and resentment flared up were he to encounter the real thing.

It had been so much easier when she was _Emma_. There was no world waiting in the wings, no friends she had to inform, no social expectations to meet. She had been able to give her entire self over to loving Severus and he in turn had responded to her. Snape seemed disinclined even to speak to her.

-x-

The neat modern houses they had ventured amongst now seemed dated, just post-war estates thrown up with little thought for aesthetics. Should she bring Harry here, she wondered, so that he might see his mother's home? She could pretend she had discovered the address whilst researching Snape. She would have to wait until he had calmed from his sudden rage over the demolition of Spinner's End. He might even succeed in slowing the destruction of the street. She probably ought to warn Snape to expect a visitor or two in the near future.

There were more cars here now, and the curb had been dropped in front of the older houses to allow them to turn their front gardens into drives. The lettering on the street signs was different. The street lamps seemed taller. Everything here had changed. It was as if there was nothing left for her at all.

The streets became busier as she neared the row of shops and she was glad she had left her cloak behind by the canal. As it was, her clothes were formal and unusual enough to mark her out. The tear tracks down her face probably didn't help, either. She was getting nowhere in her musings and she was beginning to tire. Her shoes, though comfortable enough for an evening at the Ministry, were not suited to walking long distances, and she found herself wanting nothing more than to go home and curl up on the sofa.

The late spring breeze stirred the air, bringing with it scents from the high street. There was a bookie's there now and a Chinese takeaway. The Post Office had been replaced by a Spar shop, but there, at the end of the row, was the chip shop that she had first visited some twenty years before. She breathed in deeply, her stomach growling at the gloriously unhealthy smell of things frying in batter. She had left the Ministry before the food had been served, and thanks to Ginny's stern intervention, she was used to eating regularly once more.

The liveliness of the street helped alleviate some of the gloominess that had followed her since the silent, empty streets of the older part of town. She would buy herself some chips, she decided. Retrieve her cloak from under the bridge and head home. There wasn't anything else she could do that night.

She ducked through the door into the warm space inside and joined her place in the queue. There were some plastic chairs pushed against one of the walls, and the menu seemed to have been extended to include onion rings, but other than that the place seemed entirely unchanged. She had thought that finding something familiar would be comforting, but instead all it made her feel was an aching sadness. She stared up at the price list over the counter, willing herself not to cry until she got back home.

When her turn came, she realised with a start that the man behind the counter was the same man who had served her the last time she had been here. She hadn't even been aware that she had remembered him, but there he was, grey haired and slightly stooped, but still filling orders with the same efficient, practised flair.

He grabbed a sheet of the thick white paper the orders were wrapped in and looked at her expectantly.

"Yes, love?" He asked. "What is it you want?"

-x-

She dropped her carrier bag just inside the front door as she looked around. She had only been gone for a couple of hours but already the change in the small room was staggering. The shelves lining the walls were empty, the books now lying shrunken and boxed on the floor. The hidden door clicked open to reveal Snape carrying an antique-looking leather suitcase.

She blinked, speaking carefully as she tried to control her voice.

"Were you even going to tell me you were leaving?"

She thought perhaps for a moment that he had looked ashamed but his face shifted back into its impassive mask before she could be certain.

"Would it have made a difference?"

She stopped herself from answering, uncertain what reply could undo the harm the last few months, even the last few years, had done to them. Instead, she took a deep breath, and wondered what Emma would have done.

It was Emma that he had wanted, after all. Emma, who would turn to him, trust him without demanding answers, who would let him simply be himself. It made no sense to be jealous of part of herself, yet, defying all logic, she was.

The spell hadn't only created Emma, though. It had given her Severus. Just as he had needed someone to accept him, she had needed someone who would simply be there for her; a constant in her messy, spiralling life.

Perhaps what she hoped for was impossible outside of the private, closeted world the spell had created for them. Maybe Severus was right to recognise the futility of what she hoped were their mutual desires. It was possible that there was nothing she could do to bridge the chasm that had opened up between them. That the people they had once been to each other had ceased to exist.

Yet Hermione had surely spent too long facing down the impossible to let it stop her. The final year of the war had shown her that no matter how difficult something seemed, no matter how the odds were stacked against you, you didn't just give up.

They had stood no chance of even finding Voldemort's Horcruxes, let alone managing to destroy them, with the meagre information they'd been provided. They hadn't had a hope of standing against the Dark Lord's assembled supporters and spies, the Snatchers or the power of the infiltrated Ministry of Magic. They had been without family or friends or even adequate food.

No, she had never thought that they would be able to defeat Voldemort, had never believed that she would start to get her life back together after the war, had never believed that she would find that place where she could simply stop and rest and know that she was safe. Yet Light had triumphed over darkness and then, against all odds, she had found _him_. That safe place where she could feel at home, regardless of how lost she truly was.

Severus was simply too precious to give up.

So, perhaps there was no way she could ever expect the world to understand what she had found in this damaged, forgotten man. No way that she could solve the extraordinary situation he had been placed in.

Yet perhaps she wasn't supposed to.

So she couldn't change the past. She couldn't predict what lay ahead for either of them. Did it really matter? Real life was always going to be waiting just outside the door. That didn't mean she had to invite it inside just yet.

He watched her carefully as she crossed the room towards him. There was no hope in his eyes this time, merely wary suspicion, and he stood stock still as she wrapped her arms around him. Perhaps his lack of reaction would have driven Hermione Granger away, but Emma simply buried her face into the creased material of his shirt and let his scent envelop her. Perhaps she would never _be _Emma Jones again but then, having spent so long with the other girl's less complicated thoughts, she would never wholly be _without_ her, either.

Eventually his arms came up to hold her, tentatively at first, simply resting lightly about her shoulders. She sighed happily and his arms tightened, pulling her closer still.

When she finally pulled away she knew that tears were pouring down her face unchecked, yet she was smiling, smiling as she hadn't done since the _Iuesto Momento_ had released her. The terrible look of resignation on his face seemed to falter, and for the first time, she caught a glimpse of _Severus_ beneath the tired mask of Professor Snape.

She reached out and caught his hand, marvelling at how seamlessly his fingers seemed to mesh with hers still, after all this time.

"I thought you'd left." He sounded confused, perhaps even resentful. It struck her then that she had probably behaved just as he had feared, walking away from him almost as soon as she had found him.

"Oh, Severus." She knew that she should tread carefully, that both of them were still half broken by their experiences. How much had she hurt him already, simply by allowing herself to be scared away? For the first time she had left him, not because of some unknown spell, but under her own power. "Severus," she repeated. "I've never wanted to leave you. Not once."

She raised her free hand, amazed at her own daring, and gently grazed his face with her fingertips. He flinched, just slightly, but remained still under her touch. She could not decipher what new emotion was causing his eyes to burn, but she was grateful that finally they had begun to lose their carefully maintained emptiness. Even anger would be better than nothing. She was prepared to work for his forgiveness.

She let her fingers creep up into his hair. It fell lankly around his face, so different from the carefully groomed tresses he'd had the night that he had summoned her to his side. She wondered if it was indicative of how little hope he had held out for her return. Yet he had stayed here all those months just the same. He had kept _his_ promise.

"I promised you that I'd come back," she whispered. "I'll always come back."

She had risked her life to save this man, she was damned if she was just going to let him slip through her fingers now that she had finally found him. She had lost too much already to simply let him go.

Picking up the bag, she brushed past him into the cramped little kitchen. Now that the glamour had fallen away it was clear that the room was at least usable, though the oven still leaned drunkenly away from the wall.

"Have you packed the plates already?" she called, not bothering to turn. It wasn't easy playing this role, playing at everything being fine in the desperate hope that he might play along. "If not, I suppose we can eat off the paper."

She pulled the heavily wrapped polystyrene cartons from the bag and set them out, motioning for him to sit. She allowed herself to breathe only when she heard the chair scraping against the ancient lino of the floor.

"I wasn't sure if you liked fish," she continued, willing her voice to stay level, even as her hands trembled as she unwrapped the paper. "So I got one cod and chips and one sausage supper. There's a pot of gravy in the — oh, it's leaked all over the drinks. Do you have a cloth?"

Finally looking up she found him staring at her, his dark eyes still wary.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

She dropped her eyes, her hands toying nervously with the half empty bag. "I'd like to say 'whatever it takes', but honestly, I don't really know. I know what it is I'm _not_ doing, though. I'm not going to let you push me away."

"Emma —" he began, only to stop, aghast. "_Hermione_. Gods, I don't even know what to call you." He let his head drop into his hands, his words muffled. "I've been in love with you for years, and yet I don't even know _who_ you are."

His voice was pained, as if each word had been dragged from him against his will. He looked, for all the world, like a man condemned.

Staring silently at his bowed head, Hermione felt her cheeks begin to ache from the smile that had crept across her face. She had expected to cajole him, bully him, even plead with him, just to allow her a few more minutes by his side. She hadn't expected a declaration, even one as unwilling as that.

He loved her.

Every confusion, all that horrible fear that had dogged her footsteps back to the little house and had caused her to stumble over the simple spell needed to open the front door, all of it vanished in a heartbeat. She reached for him, then stopped, recalling the gravy that stained her fingers. Without even thinking, she wiped her hands on the embroidered silk of her skirt and reached for him again, stroking the lank mess of his hair.

"Severus," she whispered. "My Severus."

He looked up then and for the first time she felt as if he was watching her, really _watching_ her. There were a thousand things she wanted to tell him. So many questions left unasked. Instead, she simply smiled.

"Eat your tea," she instructed, "then I'll help you pack. You can store everything in my attic until you decide what it is you want to do."

He mutely accepted the parcel of food, picking up the wooden fork and stabbing at the fish automatically. "As simple as that?" he demanded. With his eyes on his food she had no way of telling if he was being caustic or - perhaps - hopeful.

"As simple as that," she confirmed. "It's no worse than any of the other plans we've had." She pried the lid off the remaining gravy and poured it over her chips, wondering if it would be safe to use a knife from this ancient kitchen. "You'll work out what to do. I have the utmost faith in you. I'll guard your secret until then."

The squeal of his chair against the floor was loud enough to make her wince, as he stood abruptly and moved to the other side of the kitchen. He stood at the sink, his hands braced on either side of the basin, as he stared through the dirty lace curtains to the tiny yard beyond. Hermione had to fight the urge to speak. His silences and sudden moods had never worried her while she'd been caught in the spell. She had accepted them as easily as she had accepted his help. Instead, she resolutely picked up her wooden fork and focussed on her food, determined not to force his hand.

She was rewarded moments later when he sighed and reached for the teapot.

"Tea?"

It wasn't perhaps the most romantic of proposals, but it was more than she had any real right to hope for. "Tea would be lovely," she smiled, watching as he filled the kettle then tapped it sharply with his wand.

He busied himself at the counter, and by the time he sat back down, he had furnished them each with a large mug of tea and some slightly tarnished cutlery. A plate of sliced bread was quietly buttering itself in the space between them.

He glanced at her plate in distaste. "You do realise chip shop gravy is almost exclusively made from monosodium glutamate, don't you?"

She shrugged, and speared another thick, greasy chip on her fork. "I love you too, you know. Just in case you were wondering. I want you to be very sure about that."

"You hardly know me," he muttered, frowning. "Not really."

"Let's not start that again. Technically I've known you since you were three."

"And I still know next to nothing about you."

"Maybe that's true," she conceded. "But I'm not going anywhere. Now that we're together again, we've all the time in the world for things like that."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

That was her opportunity, she realised, if she wanted to push him, ask him if he was as serious as she needed him to be or if perhaps she should give him more time. Yet she had already had one very real declaration of love from him and another when he had allowed her back into his home. Perhaps, later, she might try for another still, finally give in and let herself kiss him; partly to see if he still responded in the way she remembered, but mostly because she had wanted to kiss him now for hours.

Instead, she contented herself with simply reaching for his hand across the table.

"Of course."

This time, it was he who entwined his fingers with hers, their hands locking together as neatly as before. He studied them, a naked, oddly unguarded expression on his face. She bit her lip, reminding herself sternly that kissing him wouldn't be a good idea until both of them had accepted the other as they were now. She was willing to wait for as long as needs be. Severus - _Snape_ - it was still so strange to see the two of them at once, yet both were just as real - Severus seemed to have other ideas. He tugged at her hand slightly until she slid closer to him.

Looking up into his face, she took careful stock of his harsh, familiar features. Hair, dark and unkempt, eyes almost black, his pale skin seeming whiter still in the fading light. His, thin, expressive lips, parted ever so slightly as his eyes flicked to hers. Seeing him like this, his defences finally lowered, it was easy to see the boy she had once known. He was older, toughened and battle-scarred, but he was still there. He pulled her hand again, and she shifted almost to the edge of her seat as she closed the final distance between them

His mouth tasted like vinegar and salt, and the slightest hint of strong, milky tea. The angle of their chairs made it awkward and clumsy, but somehow all the more perfect. It was a gentle kiss; thorough, but unrushed, and so terribly sweet that she could already feel the ache of it beginning to form in her stomach. It wasn't until they broke apart that Hermione realised her fingers had bunched themselves into the cotton of his shirt as she had tried to pull him closer.

Hermione found herself remembering the morning, long ago, when they had sat together at this little table, sharing tea and toast. Sitting with him now, she found the memory didn't hurt so much any more; none of them did. He had looked after her so carefully before. Perhaps he would let her take care of him now.

Perhaps.

It was probably equally unrealistic to hope that things would be easy for them, that the events of the war would fall away and that they would be able to simply focus on being together. To hope that real life would simply fit around the curious happenstance of their finding one another. It didn't matter, though. She was going to fight to keep him with every fibre of her being.

Hermione frowned at a sudden thought. She'd abandoned real life without explanation several hours before. If she was to learn how to balance the peace she had found with Severus with the life that awaited her beyond the condemned little street, then now was probably the time to begin.

She let her hands rest against his chest a moment longer, smoothing the creases in his shirt, before retrieving her wand and flicking it towards the dusty window. Severus paused in reaching for his tea, to watch the twisting plume of silver that emerged before it streaked off into the evening.

"It's alright," she reassured him. "I'm just letting Ginny know she can stop worrying." At his raised eyebrow she simply smiled and picked her fork back up.

"I've found my way back home."

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><p><em><strong>The End<strong>_

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><p><em>. . . And that's it! Thank you all so very much for taking the time to read this story and my eternal gratitude to everyone who left reviews or added Fade to Grey to their favourites or alerts. I had an amazing time sharing this story and can't wait to do so again!<em>


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